Hard Day's Night
by Mlle Passpartout
Summary: The original Playboy Club in Chicago was home to a diverse crowd. The girls who made it possible, like Belle French, all have their reasons for working there. She learns the hard way: one wrong move can mean the cover of Playboy or ending up in the river.
1. I

**A/N:** Hello everyone! Unfortunately, "A New Education" has been giving me SERIOUS problems recently, so I went with something a little more inspiring! I hope you all like it as much as I've enjoyed writing it!

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'Backstage' at the club was nothing glamorous. It was a room with a bunch of mirrors, lined up against the walls with a counter in front of them and some chairs for all the girls to sit and pretty themselves up. Belle had been working at the club for two months now, two long months.

She perfected the wings of her eyeliner, and the perfect shaping on her lips with the bright red lipstick they made them wear. Her tail was fluffy, her bunny suit pristine, it was all part of doing what she had to do. Tonight, as she ran the waxy stick over her lips, she let out a deep breath, finding it hard to believe that she was really sitting backstage at one of the most exclusive clubs in Chicago and didn't even feel excited about it.

Her father folded under his gambling debt, he owed a lot of people a lot of money. Belle's education was the first thing to go. It killed her to withdraw from Northeastern, especially only a year from graduating, but what else was she going to do?

She had tried waitressing for a while first, but it didn't bring in any money, and then she worked at Macy's for a bit, but that wasn't any better. No, she needed something that was going to pay the bills, take care of the both of them.

Once her mother died and her father picked up the bottle and cards, it started. The rock rolled down the hill even faster when George beat it with the leggy blonde up the street – the one in the sorority, and his parents approved of. Belle had limited options and funds to wait on something better. So, while Belle tried to match a tie to a shirt for some big shot in Macy's and he suggested she check out the club, well, Belle didn't have enough of a reason to say no.

So, she went. She lied to her father, then she lied to her boss, and only after a chain of falsehoods, walked straight into the club: desperate. She was only one of a dozen girls trying for the job, but somehow, something she did – she never asked the dark haired woman with the poison smile what – caught their eyes, and Belle was hired. Bunny Belle became her new name, and another chain of falsehoods followed her out the door of the club as well.

To her father, she picked up the night shift, so she could attempt to study during the day, to her boss at Macy's, her father was sick and needed her help, to everyone else, she was just taking different shifts or found another job, sometimes, it was easier to not talk to anyone at all, trying to keep so many stories straight. The fact that she had no energy left at the end of a day (or night, depending on her shift) really helped in the whole no social life thing.

But, it wasn't a bad gig. Sure, there were times she couldn't stand a patron, or her feet hurt – three inch heels did that to a girl – or the corset was a little too tight, Bunny Mother Regina made damn sure of that, but minor discomforts were nothing compared to pulling in a hundred bucks a night, sometimes more if the right crowd was around, not that a place like this could necessarily have the "right" crowd.

Politicians, socialites, dirty cops, mobsters, anyone and everyone who had a connection was there. Belle knew who some of them were, she served them some nights, and it never failed to amaze her, that at a place like this a girl like her was rubbing elbows with the likes of Senator's son, married son, James Charlton (who was rubbing something else with Bunny Mary Margaret, but Belle didn't gossip… a lot), or senators and the like themselves.

One of the most feared men in Chicago, and not for his physical prowess, was Mr. Gold. A defense attorney who constantly represented the outfit, was always somewhere in the club with someone from the family. Belle didn't like it, she head things about the outfit, the horrible things they did – and worse – got away with because he was paid to help them. It wasn't exactly hidden that he had sway with every judge across the city.

If he was involved, it wasn't good. Belle tiptoed around him, didn't like to even catch his eye, but it seemed like he was always in her section! For two months she was the sole provider of Scotch for him and his parties, filled to the brim with types Belle could only imagine carrying heavy weapons and looking for the next enterprise to take advantage of. They were always the worst, with their intense stares and warning glances: _turn off your ears, Girl, and keep your mouth shut_, they seemed to say with just a glance.

Belle let out a deep breath, wondering what the crowd was going to be like and pushed herself up out of the chair. She looked at herself in the mirror.

They had a new design for the body suits, higher on the hips (higher tips, the girls quipped), and they were tighter than when she started, but Belle liked her new one. It was a satin gold, her ears starched and curled just so, nestled in her big, chestnut curls, that hung loose and framed her face. She wobbled momentarily in the three inch heels, sighing softly, curse her clumsiness. It was a wonder she could carry a tray of drinks. Though, the long list of things she never thought she'd be able to do was very steadily dwindling.

She tugged at her cuffs, straightening them out, and then fixed her collar in much the same way, her bow tie sitting pretty up on her neck. If her father could see her now: a thought that certainly had no place backstage, surrounded by a bunch of other girls in French cut corset and heels, getting ready to give the patrons the illusion they paid for. She felt a tug on her backside and all of a sudden a chin was on her shoulder, grinning wide, "C'mon Belle, can't you keep your tail on straight?"

She swatted the side of her leg and Belle jumped. "Ruby!" she squeaked, and then glared at the younger woman in a suit to match her name. Ruby had only turned eighteen years old six months ago, and she had been working at the club for five and a half of them.

"I was just helping you out," she stuck her tongue out and Belle reached to grab it. Maturity was not going very far in this interaction. Ruby bubbled with rancorous laughter.

Belle wrinkled her nose at her. "You could at least give me a warning next time."

"Why? So you won't let me get a handful," she laughed, wiggling her eyebrows teasingly. Belle just rolled her eyes, and Ruby moved on, "But – more important than your tail: are you submitting your pictures? You only have one more day."

Belle shook her head. "No, I'm not putting my pictures in for that."

"What?" Ashley's voice piped in, obviously having been eavesdropping. "What do you mean you're not putting them in? Belle, this is the _cover_ of _Playboy._"

"She's crazy," Ruby responded immediately, talking around Belle like she wasn't even standing there in her heels. "Regina will kill you," she turned her sights on her, "You know you're one of the favorites, for whatever that's worth," she huffed teasingly, "not that I can see why."

They were usually teasing in the back room, and Belle laughed softly with a shrug. "Me neither."

Ashley threw her hands up, hitting her baby blue bunny ears. She fixed them while she spoke. "Oh please, you're gorgeous and you need to get your pictures in."

"Even if I wanted to," Belle offered lamely, hoping it would get them to stop pressing, "I don't have any pictures to put in."

"I'll take them after work tonight," Ruby squealed, looking so hopeful. Belle hated to squash her enthusiasm, but she couldn't. Her declaration that she couldn't was not met with acceptance. "Why don't we just take the pictures and then after that you can decide?"

From the side, another voice finally broke into the conversation, finally in Belle's corner. "Don't pester her," Mary Margaret said softly, doing her eyeliner. Belle couldn't wrap her mind around what brought a girl like Mary Margaret to the Playboy Club, but it attracted all sorts, and they didn't have to share their stories. Belle didn't, and she didn't force anyone else to either. "I'm not submitting my photos either, Belle."

"You know, it's only a little less clothes than you're wearing right now, Virgin Mary," Ruby prodded, the rueful grin on her face meaning no harm was intended. Mary Margaret, however, looked just a little stricken. "Oh Mar," she started, but was cut off almost immediately.

"Girls!" a sharp voice cut in, and Belle, Ruby, Mary Margaret, and Ashley all turned at the sharp intonation. Regina was a tough woman. She had been a bunny at the start, one of the originals, and everyone respected her. Rumor was she had an affair with one of the mobsters, but he turned up dead. No one implicated Regina, but it did things to her. She didn't work the floor anymore: turned her sights on tearing apart the new girls and 'whipping them into shape,' as she put it. "Stop messing around, get on the floor."

She pulled Mary Margaret, in her creamy ivory suit to the side, harshly whispering something, but Belle couldn't overhear. Ruby looped her arm through Belle's and sighed, shaking her head. "I don't know why she hates M&M so bad," Ruby whispered down toward Belle. Even in her heels, she was woefully small compared to everyone else. It wouldn't have been so bad if she didn't get lost in the shuffle sometimes. Thankfully, she had been told she had the looks to make up for it.

Belle never thought herself particularly beautiful, but George routinely referred to her as arm candy, and she got good tips, better than some of the other girls, so whatever it was she was doing, it worked. "Mind your business, Ruby," she counseled, though the girl had navigated her way just fine without Belle there, "come on. Grab your cigarette box and we'll get started."

Making her way to the bar to grab her tray, the club was already filling up. Smoke swirled up from the booths and groups were coming in. The polaroids were going off at the entrance and group photos were being taken for whatever publication they wanted to give them to, and Belle put on her best smile as she approached the bar. "Hey Sean," she greeted easily, "got my tray?"

"O'course," he produced it with a flourish and leaned on the bar, looking from side to side. "You talk to Ashley?" he asked, looking like a hopefully puppy. Belle sighed, shaking her head. "Can you just, I don't know, put in a good word?"

Belle leaned on the counter, with her tray, leveling Sean a look. "Maybe, if you bucked up and apologized, she'd think about it. But," she smirked, "You didn't hear it from me." He winked and she rolled her eyes, pushing herself off the bar and turned to the crowd. "Into the fray," she murmured to herself and tried to avoid licking her bottom lip so she wouldn't have to reapply her lipstick.

Ruby was already working the crowd, handing out cigarettes and giving lights. She lingered around someone Belle had never seen before. She wondered who on Earth it could be, and who's key he was in under, but there were thousands of keys around Chicago, and she couldn't know even a fraction of the ones that didn't appear in the paper or on the television.

Her first few tables were easy, "Hi, I'm your Bunny Belle for the evening, and welcome to the Playboy Club. Could I get you a drink?" the standard speech, a smile, answering what they had to say, and clarifying that she only served drinks. It was easy enough, when she removed herself from it and just reminded herself it was work. She was making good money, more money than she had ever seen, really, and couldn't complain, wouldn't complain, for the opportunity this gave her.

So, she went back and forth from the bar, bringing brandy, scotch, and champagne for the ladies at tables, giggling and smiling with no sincerity behind her big, blue eyes.

As she made a pass back toward the bar, Regina's cold hand clasped around her wrist, firm and demanding and Belle blinked, looking up at her, unsure of what to say. "Smile, Bunny Belle," her voice slithered out, menacing with her warning, "really smile."

"Of course, Regina," she nodded, forcing herself to smile as best she could, trying to look sincere with the gesture.

Regina did not look pleased, but she let go of her arm and sighed. "Go on. You have tables," and she smiled that sickly sweet smile that never, ever reached her eyes. "And remember: smile. After all," she added, "you won't make the face with a sour puss like that." Belle couldn't imagine her telling anyone to be authentic… but, she started to stride across the club and to the entry. Belle wrinkled her nose, following her as she walked, noting the real reason she was in such a hurry.

It seemed like everything was about this cover – and Belle couldn't get away from it.

She couldn't see where she disappeared to, but she could only guess it had something to do with the churning rumor mill and Hef being around, it probably had something to do with the contest. Belle wouldn't get picked anyway, and if she did, she'd never do anything else. It would ruin her plans to get back to school and do something with herself.

No, she wasn't going to do it. Walking to the bar, she put in for four scotches and Sean poured them rapidly, like he always did. She dropped them down at the table, asking if they needed anything else, before moving on.

It was about time she got to her last couple of tables, seeing Ruby leaning over the table with her cigarette box. She had no problems doing this job, legs for miles, and so thin. Belle might have been envious if not for the fact this was temporary, and Belle had no intentions of being here after she dug her father out. She'd go back to school and none of this will have ever happened.

With a new resolve, Belle sauntered up, smiling all the while, and Ruby giggled as one of the men with slicked back hair slipped an extra five into her cigarette box. Ruby was something else, really good at this job, and Ruby beamed as Belle approached. "You boys are lucky," Belle caught her saying to the table, "Bunny Belle is getting her pictures taken tonight." She wiggled her eyebrows at Belle who was now standing next to her, and she flushed, possibly all over, deep enough to match Ruby's suit.

"Before she tells you any different," Ruby added, leaning one hand on the table, like she was telling them all the biggest secret imaginable, "she's trying for the cover. Can you believe it? First Chicago Bunny to be considered, and it could be our very own Bunny Belle."

Belle shook her head, taking her spot right next to Ruby, making a big show of rolling her eyes – trying to look cute and funny as she did, feeling only foolish. The eyes were glued on her, and Ruby might have thought she was helping, but that was not going to do anything for her. "Bunny Ruby is trying too," she informed them, "and if anyone is going to get it – it's her, not me." Redirect the attention, and smile. She could do it.

"Don't listen to her," Ruby giggled, "so modest, and so pretty," she winked before strutting off, leaving Belle to fend for herself under the hungry stares of half the table, now probably fantasizing about the playmate spread that was never going to happen.

It was time to act though, and she started by popping out her hip as she stood in front of the table, "Hello this evening, gentlemen." She smiled wide, and the table was staring. Mr. Gold's stare, in particular, was intense, but Belle did not falter, "as you've already heard, I'm Bunny Belle, and I'll be taking good care of you all this evening," a bubbly giggle thrown in for affect. Mr. Gold's nostrils flared. Alright, he was displeased. She'd tone it down. Sometimes he did that, when she got too much like Ruby. Maybe that annoyed him. "What can I get you boys to drink?" she shifted her tray so she could lean to write.

"A round of scotch, Belle," he ordered for them, foreign burr rolling dangerously. Belle scratched down scotch and lifted her head to count how many of them there actually were sitting there.

"Sweetheart," one of the young men at the table addressed her, thick Bronx accent distracting Belle from counting, "Whatcha gonna wear in them pictures?" he asked, grinning like he thought he was smooth.

Belle did not appreciate the question, but she smiled anyway, "Well, sir," he was not old enough to be a sir, but he sat taller, felt more important, and maybe Belle could count on him throwing a few extra dollars down at the end of the night, "I don't quite know yet. Why don't you think on it and I'll be back to ask your opinion?" She started counting again.

Interrupted for the second time, the young man grinned, "Well, Sweetheart, I could give you a suggestion now, but I'd uh – rather you show me my options." This was blatant, and definitely not smooth, but Belle just brushed it off with a polite smile.

Part of training, Belle remembered, was to stem it off where it started, and she sighed. "My apologies," a sweet, innocent smile, "but it's against the rules to take key holders backstage." She scribbled down the figure 9 – 9 men at the table, and ignored the hungry look of the young man to look at the rest. "Anything else, gentlemen?"

There was a brief silence, the parties at the table looking at one another before Gold sighed, audibly. "That will be all, Belle." He never used the term Bunny, no matter what. She had corrected it a couple of times, but he refused, and he was the one paying, so Belle nodded with a cheery grin and strolled away, swaying her hips as she went, still getting used to the French cut of these new body suits – feeling particularly exposed under the scrutinizing gaze of twenty year olds who visited with daddy.

Personally, Belle preferred Daddy to their baby boys. Daddy knew not to touch. Get an eyeful, sure, but it was always the young ones pulling tricks. She sighed, sliding the drink order across the bar, glad that things were picking up and the rhythm felt familiar. The band was starting too, and Belle couldn't help but sway a little to the swinging beat. It was better to work to music, and as she lifted the tray to bring it over, she hummed along: "A Hard Day's Night" was one of her favorites.

With the heavy tray balanced on her shoulder and hand, Belle slowly made her way, stopping as Ashley passed with her camera. "Might want to stop by the bar, Ash," Belle smiled, to which Ashley gave a very deep frown, mouthing a very distinct 'no' at her. Belle shook her head, she tried, at the least, and Sean could get it from there.

Rolling her eyes, she kept going, knowing it wasn't good to keep the patrons waiting. Belle stopped, seeing the young man from the booth walking up. He had on a pinstripe suit, a little bit big for him, with a dark red tie and he was grinning. "Bunny Belle was it?" he straightened his tie, dragging his pinkie along his eyebrow after he did.

"So sorry if I wasn't speedy enough, Sir," she smiled, shifting her hand on the bottom of the tray, "But these are your drinks now."

His grin spread. He didn't look like he was just being friendly anymore. Belle tried to move to get around him. He was built like a house. "No rush, Bunny Belle," he moved toward the tray, "Don't you want to hear my suggestion?" his voice was low, and he raised his thick eyebrows at her.

Belle pressed her lips together, the habit she developed instead of lip licking and twisted, just a little bit, with the tray, to ward him off. "You couldn't have gotten all your ideas in fifteen seconds," she smiled. That sounded nice, at least, and she smiled again, making a move to step forward.

He blocked her, and Belle took a deep breath through her nose. If she needed to call the security guys, she'd get them over, but she didn't like messing with Mr. Gold's clients. He could create a lot of problems for her, and so could his associates. The look of this guy was all about the outfit, probably low level, lieutenant type, but he was definitely connected. "You said not backstage but," he looked her up and down, "how about you take a break and we get out of here? I'll even take the pictures for ya."

That was not what Belle wanted to hear. She was a clever girl though, and clever girls could get themselves out of trouble. "Oh, so sorry, sir, but club rules: no fraternizing with the clients outside of the club," she wrinkled her nose at him. "You'll just have to wait for the magazine if you want any pictures," she laughed, trying to be lighthearted and cheeky, stepping to the left.

He followed and Belle frowned fully, for the first time. When he opened his mouth to speak, Belle was surprised that his slick, oily voice wasn't the first she heard. "Is there a problem here?"

When the young man turned, and Belle was finally able to see, Mr. Gold was standing very close, and looking at the boy with the harshest gaze she had ever seen. "No problem, Gold," he laughed, "Just having a little chit-chat with Bunny Belle here. Talkin' about takin' some pictures."

Belle smiled, though it was completely forced, and shrugged, "I was just bringing your drinks, Mr. Gold." The faster she could ease this over, the better.

"Of course, Belle." He turned his eyes on the youth, "You, Marco, get your arse back to the table. You're here on your father's key. Don't get it taken away messing about silly little girls." He spoke to this Marco like he was a child, and strangely, he listened. He pulled at his cuffs and scoffed, but Marco marched back toward the table, trying to retain his dignity as Gold drummed his fingers on the top of his cane. She never really noticed it, at least until now, when he seemed to be threatening, silently, with it.

Belle remained stock still, however, that awkward smile still on her face. "Thank you, Mr. Gold," finally a sincere sentence, out of the entire night on the floor, it was the most genuine.

"No matter," he looked at her critically, "just bring the scotch." And he turned, almost too gracefully before limping toward the table. For a man with a disability, he moved rather quickly, and Belle trailed behind, feeling embarrassed and certain she was not getting a good tip from this table.

When Mr. Gold sat, Belle approached the table and put on her shiny, happy face. Marco looked positively livid and she pressed her lips again, before it bloomed back to the grin. "Sorry for the delay, gentlemen," she began placing glasses down on the table, "bit of a wait at the bar, I'm afraid," she laughed, and lied. Marco looked pleased. Mr. Gold's jaw mulled. The others didn't seem to think anything of it. "Is there anything else I can do for you while I'm here, food?"

She received a variety of declines on her offer and Belle nodded to the group. "I'll be back in a bit to check on you for another round." Belle nodded to the table, and tucked her tray under her arm, smiling with a wrinkled nose before walking away as fast as her little legs could carry her.

It wasn't hard to get backstage again for a minute and Belle put her hands on the counter, dipping her head and breathing as deep as the tight corset would allow her. She picked up her tube of lipstick and touched up the deep red, rubbing her lips together and composing herself. She needed to finish the night.


	2. II

After the run-in with Marco, everything else about the evening seemed to be exactly the same as usual. She ran drinks, a couple of different kinds, and flirted her way into a hefty pile of tips, at least from most of her tables. Mr. Gold's table, apparently, wasn't keen on her service that night. Belle took note, and hoped beyond reason that the key holders there wouldn't complain about her. She couldn't afford to be complained about.

When she was changing backstage, Ruby swooped in – perfect timing, as always, and gasped, "What are you doing?" she gasped, rushing forward on her tiptoes, squeaking, "no, no, tug that suit back on. I just borrowed this," she held up the polaroid, "and we are taking your pictures."

Belle glared at her, "You know, the idea of these pictures almost got me in trouble tonight, Ruby." She was clearly not playing around, and the girls all stopped moving and tugging on clothes to pay attention.

"What do you mean?" she asked, "I got that table eating right out of your hand, honey," her smile faltered, wondering what she had done to actually ruin anything or put Belle in harm's way. Ruby might not have been the sharpest crayon in the box, but she wouldn't purposefully hurt anyone.

Belle's features softened, momentarily. Ruby didn't mean to cause any problems, but she had to know. So Belle's sympathy, at least guided her tone, even if her words weren't meant to be cushioned and soft. "One of them tried to follow me, Ruby," she explained, "he barely took no for answer, and even then, Mr. Gold – of all people – came and interrupted. He was so mad at me; I didn't even get a tip from the table."

Ruby looked crestfallen, like someone had kicked her kitten in front of her or something. Belle felt bad, but she really did suffer the night because of it, and Ruby rushed forward to embrace her. "I'm so sorry, Belle," she murmured against her still done-up curls. "I didn't think that was going to happen."

"Me neither," Belle admitted, returning the hug with a little less animosity than she had before. Ruby had a way of doing that to people, softening them up. She supposed that was why she was so good at this job.

Belle sighed as Ruby pulled away, hands on her shoulders, and a grin all new on her features. "It'll be okay though," she nodded, "it was a fluke. After you get on the cover, little boys will be too intimidated to even talk to you." She giggled wildly and grabbed for the camera again.

This again? Belle frowned. "Ruby, I don't think –"

"Nonsense," she was cut off. "Just have a little fun, Belle," she urged. "You don't have to submit them, if you really don't want to." Ruby whined the last part, but held the camera up anyway, "I already borrowed it from the front," she pouted, and Belle looked entirely skeptical. "If anything, you can keep them and give them to your next boyfriend as a little something for the wallet." She winked and Belle really rolled her eyes this time.

It was hard to say no to Ruby's hopeful face, particularly when Ashley was standing behind her and grinning like a fool. Between the two of them, it was like telling a child they couldn't go to the park. "Okay," Belle's shoulders slumped and both girls squealed.

"I'm going to help!" Ashley declared, her golden curls bouncing as she rocked on her tip-toes. "I'll direct the shots, and you take them, Ruby!" Ruby nodded eagerly, and all of a sudden, before Belle could even register it, they were on both sides of her, the rest of the bunnies were shaking their heads or going about their nights, and Belle was being brought into the empty front of house.

She was exhausted, but they took her in front of the stairs first, and Ruby and Ashley could have worked for a major magazine, because they ordered her on how to stand and how to smile and how to look over her shoulder and when she should wink and laugh, and things Belle thought were ridiculous, but they asked her to do it anyway, and took her all around the club, posing her over tables and on the stage, by the time they finished it was nearly two in the morning and Belle had over two dozen polaroids that she didn't know what to do with.

They were still squealing with laughter, but they were the only ones in the club and Belle had to change, still in her gold bunny suit. The other girls had to get back to the group housing that some of the girls had, but Belle was expected to get back to her father's apartment. She wished she could just go back with them, but her father would panic in the morning, so she assured them she'd be fine, though they insisted on at least waiting for her to be dressed, and walked out with her.

After putting her suit in the back with all the others, the three young women walked out of the back door. Belle pulled her coat tighter around herself and walked in the opposite direction from Ashley and Ruby, who were linked arm in arm as they went.

It felt strange, to be out when no one else was, and Belle's inch heels clicked on the pavement. There didn't even seem to be a taxi to hail, so she walked, head down and steadfast toward her destination. It was odd, to hurry home with fear. She never got scared, and yet, practically running down the streets in the middle of the night – that was fear.

Her feet carried her as quickly as they could and truth be told, she was lucky enough that the apartment building was only a twenty minute walk away. Perhaps the longest twenty minutes of her life, seeing the people in night look at her, watching her like she had done something terrible: murder, drugs, adultery, whatever it was people thought women did in the dead of night.

None of that was Belle's life, even if the polaroids in her pocket told the world differently. Ruby wanted to go through them the next day, before their shift began, Belle was still skeptical, but the pictures were taken, and that was done. They existed, whether they were used or not. They'd probably sit at the bottom of her drawer forever. That seemed like the fate Belle would have picked, but she would honor her promise to Ruby, she decided, as her hands fumbled in her purse for her key.

She slipped into the building, climbing up the stairs, and into the unlit apartment. One more night, a hundred dollars clutched tightly in her purse, and she slipped through the abandoned living room. It used to feel so homey, now it was just two people living together. Belle loved her father, but they really only saw one another in the morning, and he felt ashamed.

He couldn't provide for his daughter, and that was the most humiliating thing in the world, she heard him say on the phone, a drunken rant to his brother in Tulsa. He tried though, and as she walked toward the hallway to the rooms she noticed something: there was a mug on the coffee table, and Belle felt a pang of guilt, he must have tried waiting up for her.

For a moment, Belle hoped the pictures with the money was worth having him stay up – and filled with guilt and a heavy weight of exhaustion, Belle slipped into her bedroom and had barely a moment between her head hitting the pillow and the wave of deep sleep that washed over her.

Her father woke her up at six the next morning, much to Belle's displeasure and she dragged herself out of bed to get some breakfast – make breakfast – and see her father off. As she watched him tug on his hat and take his briefcase, Belle leaning in the kitchen doorway. He was so lost. He had been ever since her mother died.

All Belle could do was climb in the shower and get her day started, she wouldn't be able to get back to bed anyway. So she trudged to the bathroom, peeled her pajamas off and climbed in the shower, only to find it freezing. She jumped out with a yelp. Utilities needed to get paid. Her thoughts drifted to her purse: she knew where that money would be going.

She took a less conventional approach, washing her hair in the sink and only standing in the shower long enough to soap herself up and rinse. Her lips were blue by the time she climbed out, and got to the litany of things she had to do to attempt to look like a person before she headed to the club at four. It was going to be another long night, and she had to make sure she at least attempted to look halfway decent.

Covering up the bags under her eyes, painting her eyelashes, using lipstick, and doing her hair, all of these things were automatic, her hands moved, each tool applied with a hand that moved without connection to the thousand ways her mind went. She turned on the radio in the bathroom, signing quietly to herself bouncing in her robe without the fear of someone seeing her. It was liberating, really, to have no one watching her.

She could do as she pleased, putting her hair in luxurious curls before curling herself up on the couch with a book, just to do what she wanted, just for a little while. It felt like she was never doing what she wanted, and the quiet time, when no one else was in the apartment and she wasn't cleaning or cooking, or waiting on people, she could take care of herself.

So she did. She buried her nose in the crease of the book, breathing it in like one might a summer day, or fresh baked cookies. It still smelled like her mother's perfume, one of the few things that was utterly worthless, and yet, priceless at the same time. _A Tale of Two Cities _had always been her mother's favorite – a woman of words, her father would say, and Belle kept it, finding it to her liking as well.

As she flipped the delicate pages, reading about the doomed love of Sydney Carton and the lovely, kind Lucy, she dropped her head back, careful to not crush the hair she had worked so hard on, letting it spill over the arm. She closed her eyes, stemming tears from falling. There was something so tragic in it, something so familiar and heart breaking in this. Maybe it was her exhaustion getting to her, mingling with the smell of memories, and the knowledge of the unfortunate, self-sacrificing end of the hero, but Belle had to close the book and pick herself up, putting it back in the dresser where it was safe, and would continue to smell of vanilla and honeysuckle.

She'd just make dinner, she decided. It'd be on the counter when her father got home, and she could eat before she left, give herself a chance to digest before she put on the bunny suit.

It was a process, but Belle liked it. She might not have been the best cook, but she made things with love, and meatloaf and mashed potatoes were as much of a meal of love as any. It was her father's favorite, and he had stayed up the previous night… so she spiced up the chop meat they had in the fridge and shoved it in the oven, working on the potatoes while it cooked.

Honestly, the world of domesticity was something Belle could do – there was a rhythm to it, a pride in accomplishing tasks, but I always seemed so small – so… immediate. The enjoyment had not extension outside of her and some future husband who might not ever exist, really. She wanted more for herself. She didn't want to be a Bunny forever; she didn't want to end up like Regina, even if she was practically managing the place with the accountant Ruby seemed so fond of – or maybe it was just getting him to fidget. Whatever the case, running a club didn't exactly have the humanitarian aims Belle thought herself better suited for.

She needed to get back to Northwestern to finish though. She washed the pans she was using with a sigh, maybe one day. It didn't do anyone anything to dwell on the past. She had to move on – she'd done it so many times, Belle was surprised she hadn't crumbled yet. Maybe she wasn't meant to crumble. The world around her could fall to pieces, and there she'd be, standing as tall as ever, just waiting out the storm.

The storm of pans ebbed though, and she made up two plates before wrapping up the leftovers and tucking them away. One plate got a wrapping and had a note carefully etched on the notepad, "Sorry for keeping you up, Dad. Hope this makes up for it!" signed with a heart and a B, before she took to the table, eating another dinner alone, or was it a late lunch? She supposed it didn't matter.

She finished eating quickly, no need to take her time and washed the plate – hating to leave them sit, and went to her room, taking the money out of her purse. Her fingertips brushed the stiff corners of the polaroids, and she paused – a strange desire to look at them, to decide privately, what she would do coming over her, before she squashed that feeling down. She had no time for it; instead, she put the money in the coffee can under the bed, hidden from her father, to be taken care of tomorrow. Making breakfast, getting ready, reading, and taking care of dinner took up more time than she anticipated and she needed to get to the club, not arguing with the landlord over utilities.

She tugged on her coat over her belted dress, pictures still bouncing against one another in the purse as she walked out, locking the door behind her.

The walk to the club in daylight was far less intimidating. She could stride confidently, rather than bury her head in her chest, hoping no one would notice her, and the sounds of the city were alive, real.

Making it to the club at the same time as few of the other girls, Belle smiled and greeted them, more concerned with getting upstairs. Ruby was already there, apparently pacing, and stopped dead in her tracks when Belle walked in. "Oh thank God!" she breathed, one hand on her forehead, the other on her hip. "I was so afraid you got mugged or killed last night, I barely slept a wink!"

"I'm fine," Belle smiled at the overdramatic girl. She walked forward and gave her a hug, just to let her know she was corporal and not a figment of her addled imagination.

Ruby hugged back enthusiastically, squeezing the air out of Belle's lungs before suddenly pulling back, allowing her to breathe again. "The pictures!" she squeaked, "You have to put them in before seven tonight!"

"I haven't decided I'm going to put them in yet, Ruby," she reminded her again and slipped the strap of her purse off of her arm, unzipping it to remove the Polaroids, which seemed to attract the attention of the newly arriving Mary Margaret.

She was taller than Belle, but shorter than Ruby, standing between them like a grade school line by height, and peered. "You took the pictures?" she asked, a tired smile on her face – someone else hadn't gotten much sleep yesterday either.

"Ruby insisted," Belle explained, Ruby's grabby hands reaching into the purse and taking them out without a second thought for privacy or permission. She spread them out on the counter, squeaking excitedly as she did. Belle sighed and looked at Mary Margaret, "I still don't know if I'm going to enter."

It did not appear Ruby was going to give her much of a choice and she waved her over with a perfectly manicured hand. "Look at these!" she beckoned them both over, grinning like a fool. "You get to pick three," she looked at Belle who had taken the place on her right.

This was the first time Belle had really looked at them. She couldn't believe it was her in these pictures. She didn't look like that – stretched and posed in positions that made her blush; the woman in these pictures smiled like she knew a thousand secrets, and Belle didn't want to even imagine the nature of those particular secrets. Mary Margaret was silent, and Ruby just grinned. "This isn't me," Belle shook her head, starting to move away from the counter before Ruby caught her arm and stopped her.

"Belle," she soothed, losing the fervor, but not the sincerity. "You have to accept it, this is you," she giggled, "and you have a real shot."

It didn't make any sense, Belle couldn't imagine why Ruby wanted this so bad for her, and she wrinkled her nose. "If this is what you want, Ruby, you need to get it for yourself - I'm not you."

Ruby let out a slow, deep breath. She rubbed the bridge of her nose, and leaned close to Belle. "I can't enter my pictures," she hissed.

"Why not?" Belle was so confused.

Ruby shushed her, putting her finger to her lips and looked to Mary Margaret who was standing there with her mouth hanging open like a fly trap. "You can't tell anyone," she warned to both of them, in as harsh a whisper as Belle had ever heard from her. Both women nodded, but Ruby pressed, "Promise?"

"Promise!" they both echoed, holding up their right hands to signify just how serious they were about keeping their promise.

Ruby tugged Mary Margaret closer, forming a tiny circle. They were, so far, the only girls in the dressing room, but she wasn't going to take any risks. If Regina ever walked in, they'd all be dead. Belle looked up expectantly, and Ruby licked her lips. "I'm not eighteen."

It was a good thing the girl was quick. She clamped her hands over both Mary Margaret and Belle's mouths before they had a chance to ask the same questions in the highest pitched voices they could manage. "My ID is fake," she whispered, "I really needed the job. Please, don't tell," her eyes pled with both of them, "Gran is getting old, she can't work much longer – I'm really helping out."

It took all kinds to work in this place, and for a moment, Belle felt absolutely terrible for pushing. Her muscles didn't tense, but she didn't make a move to speak, and she and Mary Margaret exchanged looks. "How old are you?" Belle asked, in a hushed tone, one that Ruby couldn't elbow her in the side for.

"I started here when I was like… seventeen."

"Like seventeen?" Mary Margaret's voice was strangled, eyes as big as dinner plates.

Ruby practically growled, trying to keep the woman quiet, and she chewed on her lip. "I'm seventeen now, alright? Just… please," she begged, looking so nervous that Belle looked down, just to make sure the ground wouldn't swallow them all up. "I told Regina I could because of my Gran, she said she understood…" Ruby chewed on her painted bottom lip, wiping away some of the make-up. "Cover for me?"

"Of course," Belle replied without a second thought. It wasn't her place to reveal that, and Ruby was a friend, she always meant well, and tried. She was desperate, Belle could understand that, and she let out a deep breath at the same time that Ruby seemed to start breathing again.

Ruby embraced the pair of them again, bouncing back faster than Belle would have expected and then moved to the counter again, giggling. "Now, please pick three pictures so you can put them in the envelope on Regina's door," she said with an odd exasperation, particularly now that Belle and Mary Margaret knew her big secret.

But, she looked so hopeful, and Belle knew the chances she'd get picked were so slim anyway, considering all of the other girls at the club, she rested her head on Ruby's shoulder and looked back at the pictures that made her almost uncomfortable. "What do you think?" She looked from Ruby to Mary's faces, hoping they could counsel her.

Of course, this conversation turned into Ruby picking the most provocative poses, Mary Margaret picking the mildest, and Belle having to navigate the middle ground, leaving her wondering when this actually became a serious conversation. As they muddled through, Belle finally settled on three she felt comfortable with before shoving the rest into her purse again. She let out a deep sigh, holding them in her hand like a set of cards. She managed to pick two pretty mild ones: one standing, her looking over her shoulder on the stairs, and another sitting at the bar with a martini glass, winking at the camera. Then Ruby said she needed something to really stand out, and she insisted picking the one laying on the edge of the stage, one leg hanging down the other forming a kind of triangle over it, on the stage, one hand behind her head in her hair – it was definitely not what Belle would have picked for herself, but Ruby looked so hopeful…

It was a reasonable spread, and even if the last one was a little racy, they put Belle's name on the backs of each, just to be sure before Mary Margaret linked their arms. Ruby, after her confession, was understandably not interested in going near Regina's office. As they walked down the back corridor, Mary leaned her head in, "You sure about this, Belle?"

Belle looked at the pictures again, nodding slowly. "Yea," she breathed, "Yea, I am," and she smiled encouragingly, to prove that she knew what he was doing. Mary nodded, showing her support, even if she was tentative and there sat the manila envelope, ready and waiting on the frosted glass door.

They stood in front of it for a moment, Belle clasping the pictures and Mary holding onto her. "You don't have to," Mary offered comfortingly. She gave her upper arm a little squeeze and Belle stared at it – hanging heavy with other photos. She shook her head, letting the temptation of not doing it get the better of her wouldn't do anything – and she rushed forward, slipping them in: it was done.

There was exhilaration to the act, something that Belle couldn't have anticipated. She did it. Grinning at the prospect, she turned to Mary Margaret, her whole face red, but feeling somewhat at peace. "It's out of my hands now," she put them up and clapped in front of her, rocking on her toes. Yes, it was out of her hands.

Mary nodded, still unsettled, but enough that Belle felt satisfied, and they walked down the hallway, back to the Bunny area. Ashley had arrived since, and Ruby was back to chattering away, tugging on her other suit, that wasn't being cleaned today. It was much less fitting than the glaring red, but chocolate brown worked too. "Did you do it?" Ruby asked excitedly, looking her up and down for any sign that the pictures were still on her.

"I did it," Belle held up her empty hands for inspection and the blonde and brunette squealed. Mary Margaret and Belle shared a look, wondering probably simultaneously how they could be so close in age, and yet… so very different.

They chattered incessantly, rooting her on like it was some kind of race, rather than a silly photograph contest, and that conversation stemmed its way into others as they all started to pull their suits on and get ready for another evening on the floor.

The back room started to smell of powder and make-up, waxy lipstick, and perfume. The laughter, heartbreak, and triumph of their overlapping stories gave the little room life, and Belle, momentarily, forgot that she was just here to make the money they needed to survive, and just lived in the moment, hitching up her royal purple suit and tightening it appropriately.

Everyone had teased her at first: gold and purple, the colors of Mardi Gras, and royalty, and Belle had laughed with them, but had grown fond of the colors, always feeling just a little special because of it.

As she tied her hip strings, keeping them high and tight, everyone's heads snapped up. Regina walked in, slinky wiggle dress with a low-cut, like always, just classy enough to distinguish herself, but also fit in with the theme. "Bunnies," she trilled, and all went silent in the face of her announcement. "Don't rush to leave after your shifts tonight. Mr. Heffner will be going over the pictures, and picking his finalists tonight. They'll be announced at the end of the night."

Tonight? No one had expected that, and the eruption of curious chattering and exciting gibbering was enough to signal the change. The atmosphere in the room took on a nervous, but exuberant energy, leaving Belle just a little bit more on edge than usual, except for Ruby and Ashley who gushed excitedly, renewing the conversation al over again.

Belle was already tired of it by the time the shift started and the club was filling up. It wasn't the busiest of starts, but it was Thursday. By ten thirty, the place would be packed. They just had to get through the bit of build-up.


	3. III

It was a typical crowd, and the girls milled about easily. At least, they started to. The usual crowd was assembling; everyone had their floor personality on. Belle felt a little more protective of Ruby, far more than she had before, but otherwise, it as all the same. Everything was the same, and that comfort was enough to keep her going despite her sore feet and awkwardly angled bunny ears.

She thought she was doing well, anyway, and having a good night until Belle saw, in her section, as always, was Mr. Gold. He was sitting with older men tonight, none of the younger from the previous day and Belle felt… relieved, but also like a rock had dropped in the pit of her stomach.

It was time to be professional. Belle put on her best smile, strolling up to the table, "Good evening gentlemen – I'm Bunny B-" Mr. Gold waved his hand and Belle silenced herself immediately. Her eyes bugged and she bit the inside of her lip to keep from making a sound that would be less than human at the embarrassment, she maintained her smile though – be pleasant, she reminded herself, you catch flies with honey, not vinegar.

"Scotch," he said plainly, and Belle nodded, at the order. His hand dropped onto the head of his cane and his eyes were trained on her, one eyebrow rising. He didn't need to ask her why she was still here, she could see it all over her features.

She had to ask though, and smiled wider, despite the fact she wanted to crawl into her skin. "Anything else I can get you gentlemen? Something to eat, maybe? Or anything to accompany your scotch?"

It seemed the men at the table, whoever they were, weren't going to say anything, and they all looked to Mr. Gold for his opinion on the matter. "Just scotch, Belle." And that was that. Belle nodded, outwardly cheerful, and bounced away – which turned into a stiff jog when she was out of view.

A shiver ran down her spine when she finally processed the whole thing. She was just doing her job; there was no need to be rude to her. Belle didn't appreciate it, but she figured it just fit with his role here. He was the big bad guy, the one that everyone cowered in front of. Maybe it why he was pushing her, because she had to smile anyway: he couldn't stand it. That had to be it, yes.

It only made sense, based on his increasing shortness with her.

Belle resolved that she would smile all the more. Yes, that would be how she would do it. And when she approached the bar with the order, she didn't say much to Sean: he wasn't looking particularly pleased either, must not have resolved it with Ashley yet. Maybe they would have to talk some sense into the girl – the bartender was miserable. When he finished pouring, she took the tray and headed back to the table, as bubbly and smiley as ever. "Sorry for the wait, gentlemen," she beamed, and gave each of them, individually their drinks.

She lingered over the shoulder of Mr. Gold, hoping some of her positive energy might rub off on him, and she saw his shoulders tense under his impeccable suit. Alright maybe not the best way to go, but it was too late for any other choice. She started to move away, "Belle," he practically growled out, and she stopped.

"Yes, Mr. Gold? Do you need something?" Accommodating, pleasant, everything she was trained to be with a patron who seemed on edge. Bunnies were there to make them smile, to give an escape.

That's what she was here for, and she smiled at Mr. Gold, when it appeared he was so concentrated on being inconsiderately rude. "Is this Johnnie Walker?" his voice was gravel and Belle could practically feel it scraping down her spine.

She remembered her resolve: smile. "Of course, Sir," she said with confidence. It was Mr. Gold's favorite, everyone knew that and when she put Gold at the top of the tab what to pour. No one made mistakes when it came to him, and he nodded gruffly at her. For some reason, Belle did not think that was actually what he wanted, but she wouldn't press, and she continued around the table with the rest of the glasses.

There were comments, of course, but nothing Belle couldn't smile off and flirt away without too much of a thought. These older guys, they weren't in it to really bother her, and most of them had on wedding rings. Even if didn't mean anything to them, it meant something to her. In fact, the only one with a bare ring finger at the table was Mr. Gold, and that would hardly come as a shock to most people. He was known for his good work, not his charm, and Belle doubted even a gold digger (appropriate) would be fitting for a man like that. He was very much an Ebeneezer Scrooge figure, at least she thought so.

The scenario played in her head as she left the table and walked to her different tables, her mind stuck on the imaginary life of Mr. Gold before he became involved in whatever it was he was actually involved in, and maybe had a life. Probably a law student, hinging all his hopes on it, a girlfriend, maybe, waiting for the question, but he was too absorbed, too interested in making money, in getting influence, that she was neglected, and then she'd be gone – and it was all very Ghost of Christmas past, really.

Her dreamy ideas about the lives of others didn't matter much though, in the face of what was really going on, anyway, and Belle had to act her part, carrying trays and doing whatever else, delivering food, picking up checks, all the things that would have made this a regular waitressing job, except for the bunny accessories and very forward guests, but even then, she'd encountered that waitressing at a day place too. Tips were better here, at least that difference made Belle's life easier.

She made it through the first half of the shift though, with her daydreams and cheerful smiles before she could take her first break in the back. Regina was there, standing at the doorway and Belle paused before she continued to enter. Her sticky sweet smile spread and Belle greeted, "Hello Regina," a little more sheepishly than she thought she would.

"Do you have a minute, Belle?" Regina did not really ask. Belle needed to make a minute, despite the fact her feet were killing her and all she wanted to do was douse them in the ice water, just for a second after Ashley was done. Nodding, Belle tried not to look too longingly at the ice baths, and instead turned her gaze to Regina. "Good," she smiled. "To my office, if you please."

Belle felt a sense of dread as Regina turned on her heel and started away from the other girls. She gave a baleful look over her shoulder, and the other girls shrugged, having no idea what was going to happen. Every horrific scenario went through Belle's mind and she imagined getting fired, thrown out onto the street without even getting a chance to change or explain herself. She'd be dropped like a hot potato, and then she'd have to go back to Macy's and the diner, and they'd get thrown out of the apartment – her mind was running away with her before they even got to the door and Regina held it open for her, "Thank you," she breathed, bustling forward on her toes and perched on the very edge of the seat in front of the desk, so she wouldn't squish her tail.

Regina was much more methodical about her movements, and she moved slowly behind the desk, sat with purpose, and folded her hands deliberately. "I don't suppose you know why you're here."

Belle shook her head, shaking in her heels. She tried to look confident, but it was fairly impossible when Regina looked so calm and collected and she had no idea what she was doing in the office. "Well," Regina continued, "for one, I'm glad you submitted. For two, I'd like to move you off of serving tables. Try something new for the rest of the evening."

Belle blinked. That wasn't what she expected. "Did I do something wrong?" she asked, feeling inadequate for the longest moment.

She was lucky enough though, that Regina did not leave her waiting too long. "Not at all, Belle," she laughed, though Belle couldn't see any actual mirth in her eyes. She didn't know what to make of it. "I was just watching the floor and thought you might like a different routine."

Belle wasn't sure if this was some sort of trick. Was she supposed to ask why? Why she supposed to keep silent? She didn't want to, it wasn't in her nature, and Belle took a deep breath. "What would give you that idea, Regina?" she asked, a little too much sugar in her voice, hoping for a straight answer.

It appeared the honey on the her tongue was enough to draw Regina into telling her what she wanted to know, and the woman let out a breathy sort of chuckle. "Mr. Gold has been giving you a hard time, dear. He's not the most agreeable patron. I would hate to have you continue under that scrutiny."

Belle was surprised. Regina's job, as she put it, was to make sure everyone was taken care of, but had she been watching that closely? And why? Perhaps there was more to it than Belle knew, but that wasn't the point. Belle didn't shirk, she didn't just give up, particularly when it was now her mission to get the man to lighten up and enjoy the place for what it was. He wouldn't come so often if he didn't like something about it after all. "Oh, thank you for the concern, Regina," Belle smiled, "but I'm quite alright. I don't mind."

That was not what Regina expected: her expression gave it all away. Belle wasn't sure what the woman was looking for, but it was not that answer. She closed her hanging mouth though, and cleared her throat, as though everything was perfectly fine – Belle had a sneaking suspicion it was not, and she put on that false smile again. "Are you sure? Winifred has already agreed to switch, if you'd prefer that."

"Oh, I'm fine, Regina," she smiled, folding her hands in her lap just so. "Really, it's not so bad. Everyone else in my section is fine. If I couldn't handle one grouchy guest, what kind of bunny would I be?" she laughed softly and Regina lips upward, despite the look of displeasure on her lips.

She sighed, "I just don't want you to be put in a position you're not comfortable with."

If that was the case, Belle thought almost sighing out loud, she would have been following her around the previous night. It certainly wasn't Mr. Gold who put her in an uncomfortable spot. He had been the one to help her, if she was being honest. No, she was quite comfortable where she was, even if he was stodgy. "I really appreciate the concern, Regina, but I'm all set. Thank you, though, for offering. It was very generous of you."

It appeared to placate her enough so that she mulled her jaw and picked up her hand to wave her off. "Very well. If you change your mind, let Winifred know."

"I will, Regina." She pushed herself up from the chair and smiled, smoothing down the front of her suit. "See you at the end of the night; I look forward to hearing the outcome of the contest." She smiled and Regina bent over the desk, scribbling something down, nodding to her.

That was quite enough of that, and her break was over. She had to get back on the floor, so she grabbed her tray from the floor and walked back out; making a b-line straight for the table she was supposedly being watched for. Regina's words and Mr. Gold being surly were the main motivators at this point, and she held the black tray on her hip.

They were engaged in a conversation, nothing Belle found interesting, but they didn't seem to notice her at first.

" – the money is clean."

"It better be, and the Cadi is gone too."

Belle didn't know what she was listening to, but when they realized she was standing there, all six pairs of eyes trained on her with such intensity that she backed up a step. "Belle," Mr. Gold's voice rumbled up from his chest and his eyes blazed. He looked like he was going to devour her.

"Sorry to interrupt you, gentlemen," she smiled nervously, eyes lighting from one person to the next; not wanting to stay trained anywhere too long. "Just wondering if you could use some refills." The small space they occupied seemed to vibrate with tension, and not a good sort of tension. There was an immediate distrust and she gulped, wondering if she had made the right choice. "I'll just… bring some more Scotch," her smile quivered under their scrutiny and Belle scurried off, one hand on her forehead trying to process.

Her break hadn't really been a break and she didn't know what she had overheard. They looked so angry, and Gold's eyes bore into her like she might light on fire. Her rotten luck was not getting any better.

Taking the drinks from Sean, she smiled a little bit, and then walked back, slower this time, waiting to see the lull in conversation – one man now apparently charged with keeping an eye out for her made some kind of hand motion and they all silenced, then stilled. Belle approached carefully and smiled softly, not wanting to make waves. "I'll be out of your hair in a moment," she eased, and placed each glass down with shaking hands.

They did not speak as she rounded the table, handing out the drinks and the chilly atmosphere made her stomach twist in the most uncomfortable way possible. Nothing good could come of this. Regina had tried to take her out of it and her own pig-headedness was going to get her in trouble. Of course, if it wasn't her, it would have been Winifred. She licked her lips: she was fending for herself; she could handle a piece of a conversation she probably wasn't supposed to hear. She didn't even know what it meant, or what context it was in.

She slipped away from the table with another small smile and couldn't have gotten away fast enough. When she looked back, for whatever reason, she saw Regina hovering in the background. She looked strangely pleased, like she expected something and Belle had to put on the brightest smile she could manage. She didn't want to show the inner terror bubbling up in her chest.

The smile called the fierce woman off and Belle sighed with relief. It didn't look like anyone else was on the floor – no one who would rat her out and Belle just had to go outside. She put her tray behind the bar and ran backstage, grabbing her coat and tossing her bunny ears on the counter. She couldn't wear them outside; it was like a beacon for the unsavory. At the confused look of some of the other girls, "Smoke break," she lied easily, and they seemed to understand.

Belle exited through the back, down the narrow stairwell and into the alley where the girls always took their breaks. The alley was empty, outside of her, and she leaned against the brick wall with a heavy sigh. Tilting her head back, she closed her eyes, wrapping her knee length coat around her. "Oh God," she murmured, scrunching her face tight, licking her lips. Lipstick be damned, she was nervous.

It was easy to be nervous outside, without the eyes of everyone resting on her. She didn't have to put up a wall and keep up a smile. It was just outside, and she was glad to breathe and feel a breeze on her cheeks. It was just good to take a deep breath of cool air in through her nose.

The feeling of just being free for a moment and Belle felt better, she felt so much better –and lighter, and she knew she had to go in, but she just wanted to savor it – keep this moment a little longer.

"I don't believe this fits within the rules, does it?" Belle's eyes shot open and at the edge of the alleyway, Mr. Gold was standing, both hands clutched around the top of his cane. He wasn't smiling – she wasn't sure why she noticed, it wasn't as though she expected one and Belle's hands flattened against the brick.

Her nails scratched gently against the red surface and Mr. Gold walked farther into the alley, his cane tapping against the concrete. "I'll be back up in a moment," she half smiled. "Did you need anything?"

Gold chuckled; a deep, reverberating sound and Belle felt a shiver race down her spine. "Not at all, Belle," he grinned like a shark and Belle immediately thought of Bobby Darin, and his "Mack the Knife." Mr. Gold certainly possessed the qualities of a shark, and when he grinned – Belle felt her stomach clench. "Just came out to offer a wee bit of advice."

"Advice?" she breathed. That couldn't be good. Whatever was happening in this alley, it was probably not good.

He nodded and stood in front of her. He wasn't a tall man, but he was still taller than her, even in her heels, and he looked down at her. "Yes, free of charge," the words rolled off his tongue and stung her like prickles on her arms and over her neck and down her spine. "Forget what you heard tonight, Belle."

She blinked, dumbfounded. "I – I didn't hear anything," she said honestly, searching his face for any indication of what she was supposed to forget or how she was supposed to do that when she didn't know anything in the first place. How could she even prove it?

"Of course you didn't," he reached up, his leather glove brushing the back of her cheek feather soft. She sucked in a breath and Mr. Gold searched her face, probing for something she didn't know, and he took one of her chestnut curls and wrapped it around his finger. "But whatever you didn't hear," he leaned closer, a hair's breadth from her ear. Belle's heart beat in her chest, "better be forgotten, and fast."

He tugged on the curl, but didn't move any further away. Belle turned her head just a little, looking at him out of the corner of her eye. "Yes, Mr. Gold, of course," her voice shook in time with her knees, she could feel the heat radiating off of him and his cane pressed against the inside of her calf. They were so close. Belle didn't know if it was threatening or intimate: it felt like a bit of both.

"There's a good girl," the back of his hand caressed her cheek again, and then down, pushing her hair and his fingers curled around the back of her neck, his thumb running up and under her jaw. "Now," he tilted her head, brown eyes flecked with gold meeting her own, bearing into her.

He didn't say anything, and they lingered there, his hand on her neck, her eyes meeting his, and a very deep concern bubbling in the pit of her stomach. "Yes, Mr. Gold?" she breathed, her jaw hanging open, breathing deep.

Before she knew it, his mouth was pressed against hers and the tension in his hands doubled. He was grabbing, it wasn't at all how Belle imagined kissing anyone. It was harsh, and rough, but not unpleasant, and Belle grabbed onto the lapels of his coat, moaning despite herself as he ran his tongue over her bottom lip coaxing her to open up. Belle surprised herself when she did and saw stars as he kissed her with an intensity she had never been kissed before. He tasted like whiskey.

He seemed to swallow her, unrelenting in the best way, and Belle responded in kind. A spark lit in the pit of her stomach and she ran her hands higher, resting near his neck, tips of her fingers sliding slowly into the softness of his thick, brown hair. "You," he growled against her lips, a quick bite on the bottom one, soothed by a kiss, "have gotten yourself into a world of trouble, Belle."

His hair slipped between her fingers and she gripped on tight, laughing breathily as he took a step closer, pressing his chest against hers with a pressure she hadn't anticipated, but certainly didn't mind. "Have I?" she asked, the right corner of her lip pulling into a soft smile before he leaned down and gave her another rough, demanding kiss.

George had never kissed her like this – like he really wanted her, desired her. "Oh yes," he murmured against her lips, his other hand greedily stealing real estate on her hip, clutching at her through the fabric of her coat. The cane clattered to the concrete with startling cracks.

Belle rolled her head back with minimal nudging from his thumb under her jaw, and his mouth left hers, restoring breath, but somehow feeling empty in all of that. His lips moved down her cheek, up her jaw: hot, wet kisses trailing over her now somehow burning skin. Her knees buckled when he hit a spot… right under her ear that made her eyes shoot open, and just like that – with a jolt, Belle's fingers loosened, she pulled her neck back, bleary eyed and bruised lipped. "Mr. Gold," she breathed, "I – this is – I'm sorry," his hand fell from her neck.

His expression was unreadable. Belle's insides twisted and she felt an immediate absence when he stepped away. "I apologize," he said smoothly, coldly, and Belle tried to understand how she felt. She was dizzy and dazed, the way a girl should feel after a thorough kiss, and he was apologizing, which made it feel all wrong. But, he wasn't supposed to kiss her – and it was very confusing. "Remember what I told you, Belle. It's best you forget."

Belle swallowed hard, nodding in the aftermath of what just happened and went to bite her lip, which was thoroughly pained. With much effort, he bent down – Belle moved to help him, but he held his hand up, stalling her. He straightened up, looked at her one more time, an expression that seemed fraught with conflict and then started to walk out of the alley and around the front. Belle watched him go, listening to the resonating tap of the cane as he walked. She was frozen, until he was out of sight and then she darted back, through the employees' only door and up the stairwell.


	4. IV

She didn't know what to do, if she should do anything. She just broke so many Bunny rules. Well, she didn't really break them, not herself, but it was the point, and she was outside when she shouldn't have been and with a patron – which she shouldn't have been. She darted up the stairs, hoping she hadn't been gone for more than five minutes, but when she glanced at the clock it had been nearly ten and she was going to die.

Belle grabbed her tray and scooted out to the floor as fast as her heels could carry her, after she put on a fresh layer of lipstick. Her hair was mussed though, and the lipstick very clearly new. Mary Margaret walked up next to her and whispered, "Where have you been? Regina might kill you."

"I… just needed air," it was mostly true, and wouldn't hurt anyone for her to say it. I'm going to catch up, don't worry. Mary Margaret gave her a baleful look and sighed, clearly not at ease. "I'm fine," Belle smiled, "I swear."

Mary Margaret sighed softly, examining Belle's face. M&M had the mother complex, perhaps more so than Regina, who was supposedly the Bunny Mother, and here she was, just with one look seeing everything she needed to see. "If you need anything," Mary Margaret said softly, "you can talk to me, you know."

She was too good to be true. She leaned over and wrapped her arm around Mary's shoulder, "I know," she smiled warmly, genuine, and Belle squeezed her one more time. "If I need anything, I will." That seemed to satisfy Mary Margaret and they exchanged sweet smiles before parting ways, Belle still feeling conflicted about what had happened, but somehow, okay with keeping it a secret from Mary.

It was time to focus on the shift. She had to do her job, and she had already been gone for fifteen minutes. When she made a sweep around, Mr. Gold wasn't back at the table. She supposed he was waiting, avoiding suspicion, since it was all too obvious what talk did to people in this town, and she pretended to pay no mind, serving other drinks, smiling, flashing hip whenever she could scrounge an extra few bucks out of anyone.

The rhythm was easy to reestablish and Belle wondered at what point it had gotten so easy to do this job, so easy she didn't have to think about it. It was a blessing in some ways, not questioning herself at every turn, but a curse in others, able to fixate on anything else in the absence of unrelenting questions about her skill set on the job.

She tried to keep her mind off of it though, attempting to not blush like mad when Mr. Gold finally entered the club again. She stood stock still, their eyes met for only a brief moment before Belle had to turn away, afraid she might drop the champagne flute she was placing down for someone's date, and smiled, asking if she might send over a Bunny to take their picture as a souvenir.

The mindless things helped, and as the night drew to a close, as the club started to close and the patrons dissipated, Belle was more than happy to collect the last bunch of checks and tips before the front of house would be abandoned. When she made her way to the now vacant table, where Mr. Gold and his associates had been sitting, Belle was surprised. A fifty dollar bill sat folded in half, poking out from under the glass where Mr. Gold had been sitting. She pocketed it quickly, and bit her lip – a thousand thoughts crossing her mind: hush money for multiple incidents of the evening, a misinterpretation of her role as Bunny, an expectation laid bare on the table… all of these things were possible, but Belle couldn't be picky. They needed the money, and that put her tips over two hundred for the night. It was like a dream come true, wrapped in a lot of overwhelming nonsense.

She just hoped the nonsense would go away as quickly as possible, and she scurried backstage, Regina's scrutinizing gaze following her as she passed. No one was changing, just huddled together speaking in hushed whispers about what was going to happen. The announcement was all the others could think about. Belle's mind couldn't have been farther from that room, however. It was still lodged, back against the wall in the alleyway, trying to decipher why she felt a familiar ache when he kissed her and how a veritable stranger could know just the right way to kiss someone stupid.

Her dreamy eyes floated upward and back toward her mind, only snapped into reality by the sharp cut of Regina's voice. "Not your finest night, Ladies," she stated with a tone so matter-of-fact, it felt almost like she mentioned the weather. "But, even with that mediocre performance," Belle felt more than half responsible for that, "Hef was downstairs all night looking at your pictures. Five of our very own stood out and are in the running for the cover."

The envelope in her hands was slowly undone, Regina's pristine nails pulling at the glue and centimeter by excruciating centimeter getting closer and closer to just who would be able picked out of everyone who had put their pictures in. "Patience, girls," she laughed and the envelope snapped open all the way.

A steady buzz picked up amongst the crowd, the energy in the room was just growing more frantic, like a hive. Regina cleared her throat, the crowd still clearly excitable, but simmered down so instead of being heard, the energy was merely felt, a palpable sea of vibrations. "Our first lucky girl is Bunny Dawn," the bright eyed, blonde bunny squeaked in excitement, "Bunny Ashley also submitted promising photos," Ruby squealed louder than Ashley did and squeezed her hand tight. Regina gave them a sharp look, clearly wanting to finish the list. "Bunny Tia, congratulations," one of the only African American girls in the club looked positively shocked: Belle was glad, at least, that her hard work was paying off, like Tia always said it would.

That was three down though, and with only two left and a sea of hopeful faces, Belle was the most composed, next to Mary Margaret anyway. "Second to last," Regina drew out, increasing the tension in the room by twofold, "Bunny Sue," the sure-footed red head from Texas (no one really knew her story) hollered so loud Belle nearly jumped out of her seat, leaving Regina less than pleased. "Just one name left," she smiled out at the crowd, each person leaning forward, except for Belle, of course, and collectively the breathing in the room stopped. "Bunny Belle."

The silence was palpable as it sunk in. Belle blinked rapidly, not even making a sound as Ruby clapped her on the shoulder and even Ashley emphatically congratulated her.

The world seemed to stop in that moment, only to restart when Regina began again: "Congratulations to those of you who were chosen. You'll be expected at the club by noon tomorrow for the final selection. I suggest," her eyes jumped from one candidate to the next, a flat expression on her face, "you dress to impress. That is all. Good night, Ladies."

There was a mix of celebration and disappointment in the room after Regina left was obvious. Some of the girls stemmed their tears, others were completely unable, but Belle felt numb. She didn't know how she felt, of if she even felt accomplishment at it. Ruby couldn't be happier, declaring that she and Ashley had done everything they could to help her, and couldn't be happier. Even Ashley, who was direct competition, was chattering excitedly to both of them.

Belle was distant though, not that they noticed, with their conversation floating over her head as she put on her day clothes, buttoning her out-dated dress up the front and slipping on her flat shoes – her feet screaming in relief as she abandoned the heels for the night. "You don't look happy," Ruby finally stated, standing in front of Belle as she tugged on her coat.

"I'm just overwhelmed," Belle shrugged, honesty colored her well, when it was harmless. The feeling came from a number of things, true, but Belle was not going to divulge.

Ruby sighed and looked her from head to toe, "Well you have to get un-overwhelmed," she sighed, "and we need to dress you for tomorrow. You are _not_ meeting Hugh Heffner dressed like a dumpy housewife."

"Ruby!" Mary Margaret chimed in, "That was rude."

"Doesn't mean it's not true," at Mary Margaret's harsh look, Ruby sighed, "I'm looking out for her best interest." She wrinkled her nose and looked at Belle. "Let me help you – come to my apartment in the morning," she smiled, "Gran will fix us up something and you can try on whatever you want." Belle didn't know, and her expression must have reflected it, because Ruby sighed. "Let's just give you the best shot possible. You too, Ash, just come up and I'll take care of both of you."

Ashley nodded feverishly. Belle didn't want this like the other girls did. She tried, of course, because other people wanted her to, but the hopeful looks on their faces, Belle wasn't – she wasn't a cover girl, not for Playboy. She'd never seen herself as such, but somehow, there were forces working that pushed her in that direction, something others saw that she just didn't – or couldn't at this point.

Whatever the case, Belle sighed. "Thank you, Ruby, but I think I'll be fine. I have a new dress I can wear." It wasn't a complete falsehood. The dress wasn't exactly cover of a magazine, but it was her, and if she was going to impress them with herself. If that wasn't enough, she wouldn't be on it, and that was that.

"Fine," Ruby sighed, "but call me if you change your mind. Gran goes out after nine, so if you want food, come before. If you don't, whenever you decide you need my expertise…" she giggled, winking at her. Belle rolled her eyes and laughed, tugging her scarf out of the locker.

She tugged the blue-green-gold paisley fabric around her neck to keep the cold out and sighed. "Alright girls, I'm heading out. Exhausted," she breathed, emphasizing with the drop of her shoulders and rolled eyes, "I'll see you tomorrow."

Each bid their own idiosyncratic goodbye, and Belle waved before exiting the club. It was another late night, just another day lost in the hustle of Chicago streets. Belle was just one of many players, but she refused to let herself be pushed around. She worked to help herself.

As she started the twenty minute walk back to her apartment, Belle became vaguely aware something that wouldn't have caught her attention any other night. Maybe it was just the slow speed the car was travelling at, but a black vehicle was travelling at a maddeningly slow pace behind her. She picked up her pace, remembering just what Mr. Gold said: she got herself into a world of trouble, whether it was with him or the men at his table, he hadn't been clear, but either way, she couldn't imagine good things.

She tried not to look over her shoulder again, but it was impossible. The presence of that car followed her, down the block, then another, and Belle tried to make out the people inside, but the windows were tinted so dark she saw her reflection, not the passengers. She hoped it was happy coincidence, that they were traveling the same route. Logically, it was tenuous, but Belle hoped… as she got onto her street… The car accelerated, and Belle swallowed, closing her eyes, sending a brief prayer upwards. If this was the beginning of the end, she wanted it to be quick, and that they'd have the courtesy to throw her into the river so her father wouldn't find her when he went to work…

The back window slowly rolled down, the mechanism that pulled it ringing in her ears. In the middle of night, Chicago was deafening. It might as well have been a gunshot. "Bunny," the simple word commanded all of her attention and Belle tripped over her feet. The voice was not familiar.

Turning her head slowly, she saw one of the men from the table. She didn't know his real name, at the club he went by Mr. Barker, clearly a pseudonym, but he was talking to her and Belle felt like it wouldn't be in her best interest to ignore him. "Bunny," he growled again, clearly impatient with her and motioned her forward.

She tentatively moved toward the car and Mr. Barker rolled his eyes in impatience. "You say a word," he sneered as she approached the window, "One. Single. Word," his voice dripped with every threat she could imagine. A flash of silver, so brief Belle wondered if she imagined it from his hip, she looked in his face. His expression told her she didn't imagine it.

The window slowly rolled upward, their eyes still locked, and Belle ceased breathing. The car pulled away, as slowly as it had come before the engine rumbled and it darted down the street, leaving Belle on the sidewalk, stomach twisting. She felt tears prickling in her eyes, she had just been threatened! Belle French, Playboy Club Bunny, a veritable nobody was _threatened_.

This was something that happened in a movie, not real life. This whole night was shaping out like something that was more of a crazy novel Ruby would read or a really bad movie. She just had to go inside. She was right in front of her building… She was right in front of her building! They'd know, she realized, they'd know where she was walking – and her father!

Shoving her hands in her pockets, Belle's eyebrows crinkled together, creating deep furrows in her eyebrows. She didn't remember a piece of cardstock in her pocket from before… She wrapped her fingers around it and pulled the little card out, examining it from the streetlight.

_R. Gold_

_Attorney At Law_

She blinked, when had that – _Oh_. That made complete sense. When his hand, on her hip… he must have slipped it into her pocket in the alleyway. The phone number to the office was there, on the front, and she flipped it over in her hands, half expecting it to be a joke, when there was a handwritten message, neatly scripted in black pen. First, there was a phone number, not the same as the front, and then, "If you need assistance. Call any time. –R.G."

Belle trembled. He was right. She was in deep trouble.

Not only was this against club rules: you never took the number of a patron, you couldn't! They were guests, and the bunnies… they only existed in the walls of the club. Outside of it, they were trembling, frightened little girls, desperate for money, or whatever else they were looking for working there. Not any girl decided one that she'd walk around for hours in three inch heels being ogled. There were reasons, and they all had them.

But now, she was playing with fire. The conversation, the kiss, the confrontation, and now this phone number? With all of this she was expected to go into work early and impress Hugh Heffner enough to have him put her on the cover of Playboy? Belle was beginning to think all of her troubles started with those damned photos.

It was a veritable sprint into the apartment building. After shoving the paper back into her pocket, she didn't want to linger, nor did she want to lose or drop her newest contact. R. Gold gave her someone to go to – someone who confused her, but to go to. All she wanted to do was run inside and pick up the phone. Could she?

Technically, it said any time. Did he mean it? Was she really considering it? That was probably the better question. A man she had barely had words with before this, who just sat in her section, ordered his Scotch from her and left a tip – it wasn't adding up. It didn't make sense.

Belle was going crazy; she had to be going crazy. It didn't make any sense. Running her hands through her hair, she was glad she was only entering her apartment building and not worrying about going back to her shift. She just had to get inside, slam the door shut behind her, and lock the door.

It was late; her father would already be in bed. Yes. Belle had a short term plan, and it was enough. She slid her coat off and plopped on the couch next to it. Belle rested her forehead on the arm of the chair, closing her eyes. She couldn't deal with this. She wasn't made to do this: her whole life was turning into a sea of things she wasn't meant to do.

Glancing at the clock, in the bleak lighting, she made out it was nearly one thirty in the morning. She felt guilty, but with what happened on the street… digging into her pocket, she pulled out the now slightly crinkled card and bit her lip.

She couldn't risk it. Belle picked up the phone next to the couch- they finally got the wire that allowed it to stretch out of the kitchen and she tried to turn the wheel as quietly as she could. Her father was down the hall, but still, she couldn't risk waking him.

The phone buzzed, louder than she'd ever heard it. She practically jumped out of her skin with each ring, nervously battling with herself. Should she just hang up? He was clearly sleeping… but then that would be rude… She was about to tear the phone from her ear when a heavy, sleepy sounding voice gruffly answered, "Gold. This best be important." Belle stared at the receiver for a moment, her palms sweating and throat suddenly dry. She should have gotten a glass of water first… "Hello?" he growled.

Patience wearing thin, Belle had to do the brave thing – she just had to talk. "Wait!" She squeaked, suddenly freezing in terror. She was louder than intended, and she heard a creak from down the hall.

The voice on the other end sounded considerably less sleepy, though no less ruffled, "Hello? Who is this?" Belle regretted ever calling, but she was on the phone now and she'd go through with it.

"It's Bun- it's Belle," she corrected herself, a fierce blush cross decorating her cheeks, anxiety fueling the embarrassment. She chewed on the inside of her cheek. "I – I found your card."

He made a sound rather like a grunt and his voice oozed sarcasm, "Obviously. Just testing it out, dearie or did you need something?"

Belle winced, feeling foolish and twisted the phone cord around her fingers. "I was walking home," he snorted, mumbling something, but Belle couldn't make it out. She pursued her story, "and – and there was a car, it followed me."

"Are you sure it wasn't pure coincidence, Belle?" It rolled off of his tongue so naturally that for a second, she might have thought it was. But she remembered the window, the silver, it all happened and she shook her head vigorously.

He couldn't see it, but she had to protest in some way. "They pulled up," she explained, "next to me – in front of my building – Mr. Barker, Mr. Barker – there was a flash of silver in the car, all he said was something about me saying a word, and then he drove away. Your card – it said if I needed assistance…"

The other side of the line was silent for long seconds, seconds that Belle could feel her heart thumping in her chest; hear her blood rushing through her ears. Maybe he didn't have anything to say. Maybe he hung up. She drew a shaky breath before his voice picked up again, "You said Barker, yes?" she confirmed with a single syllable response and he sighed. "Vincenzo Todio." The name sunk in, though she wasn't familiar with it, and he continued, "Do you live in the Mansion, dearie?"

Belle blinked. "Goodness no," she felt scandalized just thinking about it – living there, like some of the other girls with parties until the morning and people cycling in and out. No, she couldn't have even if she wanted to, "I live with my father."

He snorted. She wasn't sure what that meant, but she didn't like the sound of it. "Any other family in town?"

It was Belle's turn to snort. "No. It's just me and him." She paused for a moment and hastily followed up with, "Is that bad?"

"You'd be wise to get your apartment fumigated, Belle," _leave_? Belle didn't have anywhere. They were just barely affording this place, even with how much money she was pulling in from the club. "Tell your father he will be staying in a hotel, do not worry about the cost. You will be staying with one of your friends, perhaps the Ruby girl." She was silent. "Do you understand?"

She licked her lips, glancing at the clock, then toward the hallway, her father still sound asleep. "Where do I tell him to go?" she couldn't just send him off, "and how is it getting paid for?" These were important details, much too important to be glossed over, no matter how close it was to two in the morning.

"Leave it to me, dearie. Pack your things. Tell your father the same in the morning and go to the Stonebrook Motel," nicer than what Belle could afford, she noted, "After you leave in the morning, do not return until I tell you." He was stern, but the roughness of exhaustion and anger had ebbed from his voice. These were instructions that he meant, clearly, but he wasn't using the same tone as Barker – Todio – whoever. "There will be a black Cadillac outside, providing you give the address, at ten in the morning for you."

"What? A black Cadillac?" her mind ran to the conversation – yes, the one she was supposed to forget – and she gulped.

An exasperated sigh wrapped around her ear, and Belle shivered. "My vehicle, Belle." She felt a sudden pang of relief, and he continued, "Ten o'clock, sharp." She nodded, rambling off her address – three times –apparently she was speaking too quickly to be heard the first time, and she heard a sort of grunt, "Are you clear on all of this?"

Belle's ear burned from the phone receiver. "Yes, Mr. Gold, of course. Stonebrook Motel, your car at 10 AM," she didn't have much, but it was enough, and she had to feed her father a bogus story about cockroaches and fumigation… When had she really agreed to rely on someone else like this? "Thank you," she finally breathed, "Thank you for the advice."

"No matter, dearie," he returned easily. "You should sleep. Remember what I told you."

Belle nodded silently before licking her lips, "I will." The circulation in her finger was cut off by the tightness of the cord. "Good night, Mr. Gold – thank you again." And the phone clicked on the other end.

With the silence on the line, Belle felt a deep weariness. If she could get even a couple of hours of sleep, she would cherish them, and she dragged herself off of the couch, tiptoeing past her father's door before she entered her own room, dropping onto the bed still in her dress, too tired to even change.


	5. V

**A/N: **Thanks for the reception to this story, guys! I know I just posted the first four parts yesterday, but I finished the fifth today, and to keep it up to date with tumblr, I just wanted to update it now. I hope you all are enjoying reading it as much as I'm enjoying writing it!

* * *

In the morning, she had to deliver the performance of a lifetime, still exhausted from the night before, making breakfast and her mind lingering on the conversation with Mr. Gold. He said he was going to take care of everything, and Belle didn't want someone else taking care of her, she didn't need that, but she worried for her father. He was a simple man, nothing like quick, bright person her mother had been. If something happened to him because of her, she'd never forgive herself. And that was where she had to trust Mr. Gold. Who trusted attorneys anyway?

"Dad," she began, pushing scrambled eggs around in the pan, her father who was sitting at the table reading the paper lowered it to look at her, grunting for her to go on. If she didn't dote on him so much she might have complained about his attitude this morning. "When I got in last night, there were roaches all over the kitchen," she grimaced, the mental image enough to have her squirming, despite its falsehood.

He shrugged, seemingly unperturbed and Belle couldn't help but feel like that was the inappropriate reaction to someone declaring your home was full of vermin, even if it wasn't true. She spoke before he had a chance to pick up the paper again, "Dad," she breathed exasperatedly, "they were everywhere, I just – we need to get it taken care of."

"Don't have the money," he said firmly, lifting his paper, creating a barrier between them. Finances were a tough subject, and he hated discussing it. Belle just had to press.

"I'm picking up some extra shifts this week," she smiled, trying to be convincing, but also proud of her own conceived lie. "I'll take care of it – I won't have the kitchen full of vermin." She half-convinced herself it was the best course of action.

He mulled his mouth, "Let me call myself. I'll take care of it." The pig-headed part of her father was a side of him she hated dealing with. She just wanted to help, she wanted to make everything okay – and she wanted to do it without having to tell her father most of the truth.

"Dad, you're busy – I don't have to be in work until noon today, I'll call." Belle sighed as she started pushing eggs into the plate and taking sausages out of the second pan. "I can do it. Just get your things together, throw them in the car. You can stay at Stonebrook this week," she smiled, so sweetly it might discourage him from arguing. "I've been saving, and it's closer to work for you anyway."

He didn't argue at first, but that didn't mean Belle had fortune to make this conversation an easy one. "And what about you?" he asked with a critical eye. Belle did not want her story to fall apart under scrutiny, and she went back to Mr. Gold's words on the phone.

"I'll stay with my friend Ruby," she smiled, answering his next question before he had a chance to ask it, "she works with me." That seemed to please him, marginally at least, and Belle shrugged at him, attempting to play it off. "I'd rather pay a little extra and have a nice kitchen," she laughed easily, and the tension, though not entirely gone, did seem to calm a little bit.

Her father ate in silence, pushing the food down without stopping so much as to breathe before he pushed himself up from the table and marched back toward his room. Belle heard the rustling of things and she really hated to see him look so dejected about this, but she reminded herself upsetting his pride was better than burying him because she had bad timing.

Thankfully, neither of them had very much, because he was packed into two suitcases within twenty minutes. Belle smiled as he walked out, washing the plates in the sink and he walked up to her, putting the suitcases down to give her a hug and a kiss on the temple. "Call the hotel tonight."

"I will, Daddy," she threw her arms around him and kissed his cheek in return, squeezing on. She felt bad, but it was best for both of them. She glanced at the clock and sighed. It was eight thirty, she needed to pack, take a shower, and get ready to meet Hugh Hefner before ten o'clock in the morning.

Abandoning the kitchen, she left the washed dishes in the sink: they wouldn't need them later anyway, and Belle rushed through her routine, abandoning any sense of care as she did. She couldn't waste the time in being careful, particularly when Mr. Gold's car would be there in an hour and a half.

Now, this of course did give her some misgivings. A black Cadillac was never a good sign, and he did represent the outfit in court – he could very easily be working with them. It wouldn't be beyond the realm of possibility, after all, being thrown into the river and never heard from again. Their lawyer would know how to cover it up – how to make sure no one ever knew, and then blame it on her job or something like that… It would break her father's heart, and their family would be disgraced or maybe even completely unknown – she didn't know which would be worse.

Would Mr. Gold play that game though? When she remembered the way he warned her, and the willingness to give her his personal number, then there was the kiss –the kiss that weaseled its way into her dreams and she caught herself thinking about even when she didn't intend to, she just couldn't imagine it – and Belle's imagination was quite vivid.

She cursed as the thought of his lips against hers made her hand shake and the lipstick draw a thick line very decidedly away from the plump protrusion of her own lip. She blushed, brighter than she thought possible, embarrassed at her own lack of focus. Belle had to put her mind to the task or she would never be ready to go.

The rush of it all did nothing for her hair, curls loosening with every frenzied step and she felt like she was sweating down her back. The woman just started shoving things into her suitcases – everything she could out of the little she did possess - and tugged on her pale blue dress. It was modest, but pretty and edged with white piping. The hem hit just below her knee and the white belt accented her waist, which she had always been complimented on. Hopefully it would be enough to impress Heffner and whoever else was deciding, if she even got there. The morbid realization that going downstairs could very well mean she'd never be seen again; at least, if she was going do die, she would look sweet and pretty first.

Slipping her feet into her low heels, she looked at the clock. It was 9:59 and she still had to run down the stairs. Cursing, she grabbed her coat – checking the pocket for the number, just in case, and the handle of her suitcases before dashing out the door, locking it in a frenzied rush of jingling keys and bumping suitcase. She cursed under her breath, anxious at the whole thing. It was ten and she was expected downstairs.

A flurry of rustling skirts, scuffling feet, and a suitcase that bumped against the wall was the soundtrack of descent and Belle wanted to move, faster and faster. She propelled downward and it seemed even quicker than normal, her breathing heavy as she finally closed in on the final landing. She must have looked frightful – maybe she did need Ruby's help. But it was too late now. She just had to hope that it'd be okay.

It seemed like so many things in her life were being tossed up to the all powerful force of fate, no matter what she did. She was going to do as much as she could to at least put it in her own hands – and if that meant putting trust in others, she was going to have to do it.

Pushing the doors open, Belle stepped into the sunlight – surprised at the warmth of the sun in late fall, and blinked into the blinding light. It was only a couple of minutes after ten, and she licked her lips. Maybe he wasn't coming. Maybe she was going to be left here with her suitcases at her feet, looking for a place to hide and running away with another set of lies. Her fingers itched around the handles of the suitcase and she looked up and down the street, waiting for a sign, anything.

She glanced at the thin silver band on her wrist, the face of her watch indicating five minutes had past and the Cadillac was late. Her stomach twisted uncomfortably – maybe it wasn't going to be so easy. She'd have to figure something out, especially if she was going to keep her father safe and still support them… She dropped her suitcases onto the pavement and raised her hands to her forehead. She rubbed her temples, anxious and thoughtful.

The choices were laid bare: she could stay, hoping that having her father away would be good enough, she could go with him, but that would risk being followed there, or she could get her own room somewhere else. She wasn't sure where she could get the money for it. She could go to Ruby's – though she didn't know how her grandmother would feel about it… or maybe Mary Margaret's? Were those even options? She supposed she could find out at work. She'd just take her suitcases with her…

Belle bent down to grab the handles, she'd catch a cab with the little bit of cash she had in her purse that wasn't designated for rent and get to the Club early, then maybe she could borrow something someone left behind - or maybe even see Ruby… yes, this would work. She was about to walk over a few blocks, to a street more heavily populated with cabs when a car turned the corner onto the empty street, and she recognized its color and make: Black Cadillac.

Holding her breath, Belle stood stark still in the middle of the sidewalk, her bags clutched to her sides as her knees quaked. This was going to either be very good – or very bad. She stared as the car drove up, slowly approaching the sidewalk and Belle moistened her bottom lip with the tip of her tongue. Her heart was racing – it felt so much like the previous evening.

She was just a young woman, standing on the side of the road and this big, ominous vehicle was coming up next to her. The windows were tinted – the driver was non-descript, someone who would blend in with any other guy on a line-up, not that there was anyone to point him out even if he gunned her down in the middle of the street like a dog. But she stood tall, watched it come, and prayed her knees wouldn't give out as it pulled to a slow stop, the brakes squeaking just slightly.

The back window started to roll down – her heat thrummed in her chest uncomfortably, so much so that she closed her eyes tight – she didn't want to see if a gun was being drawn and she was going to be shot at. The sound she heard was not a gun shot, however. "Belle?"

She opened her eyes and finally started to breathe. "Mr. Gold?" she felt like she was in a state of complete disbelief. It was hard to believe he was sitting there – well, not so much sitting, as he moved to open the door and the tip of his cane came out first, followed by his legs.

"Expecting someone else?" he quipped dryly, raising his eyebrows before knocking the handle of the cane on the front door. Belle shook her head, almost dumbly, unsure of what to say. Was she expecting someone else? Maybe, but the realization that he was here, at least for now, was enough: even if he still very likely could throw her in the river.

The front window rolled down just enough that when the car shut off, the driver's gloved hand slid the key out and Mr. Gold grabbed them, enclosing them in his own gloved hands. Didn't gloves mean they didn't want to leave fingerprints? Belle swallowed her own saliva hard. "I'm sorry," she spoke delicately, trying to laugh, "I should have thanked you again, rather than staring like an idiot. I guess I just didn't expect you to come."

He shook his head, putting his key in the trunk and turned it with one hand, waving the other. If he asked her to climb into the trunk, she knew she'd be dreaming. Maybe it was a cruel dream. When he looked at her, though and her breath hitched in her throat, she knew it was real. "I offered if you recall, dearie," he pointed out a shadowed look on his face, "and I do not go back on my offers. I'll put your things in the trunk."

"I can do it," she scurried forward, the baggage hitting against her legs. She hoped they wouldn't bruise… Whatever the case, she had to move quickly – avoid upsetting him. He shook his head and took the bags from her, gloves brushing against the tips of her fingers, causing Belle to blush. He was singularly focused though, securing the back of the car, and Belle fiddled with the strap of her purse, fingers still burning from the brief touch. She looked at him and he motioned to the car.

Belle climbed in, trying to be as graceful as she could while she slid across the seat. The driver's eyes were sharp and he adjusted the mirror. Belle felt immediately uncomfortable, watching the way his dark eyes shifted to slant over her, even through the mirror. Mr. Gold climbed in after her, and she looked at him, lips quirked into a half smile. "You can take me to Ruby's, if that's not too much trouble."

Mr. Gold's eyebrows raised and he shook his head, extending his arm to hand the keys over the front seat. The driver took them without a word. The car started and Mr. Gold pointedly ignored her in favor of asking his own question, "Your father is out of the apartment, I trust? And you told him where to go?" Belle nodded in response, feeling rather like a child answering to the principal, and he made a gruff sound of approval. "And you have everything? No need to go back?"

"No, none," Belle affirmed as the car started to move. Belle realized she hadn't given the address and she looked from the back of the driver's head to Mr. Gold. "I should probably give him the address, shouldn't I?" she asked, uneasy in her questioning, unlike Mr. Gold who was entirely straightforward. Must have been the lawyer in him.

He leaned back into the seat and shook his head. "You won't be staying with your friend, dearie." It was a cryptic little phrase, enough to make Belle's stomach flip in her very core and she nervously clasped her hands in her lap, her fingers fiddling.

"Where will I be staying then?" she finally asked, quiet, but resolute. It was something she needed to know – needed to be aware of.

But, Mr. Gold was not the type to answer questions, and he looked at her out of the corner of her eyes. "Somewhere safe." The answer was just as cryptic as his last, and Belle sighed. She wasn't getting anything else out of him that was for certain. So, she looked out the window, committing the city to memory or at least the route from her street to wherever they were going. If she was alive by the end of the ride, she wanted to be able to run if she needed to.

The ride was uncomfortably long. Though, by her watch, it only lasted eight minutes. It was a wonder, in a city, how one car ride that only lasted eight minutes could put them in completely different worlds. Belle and her father were not well off. They lived in an okay neighborhood, but it was run down – safe, but old. Here, as they drove in his expensive car, Belle looked at the buildings – clearly old, but taken care of – with the trees in fences and bushes around the stoops. It wasn't all grey and lifeless, and the brown bricks were beautiful against some of the greenery and the fresh, blue sky. She pressed her face as close to the window as she could without smudging and breathed, her breath clouding the pane. "Where are we?" she breathed, having never been in a place like this before. Even George's family hadn't lived like this.

Mr. Gold didn't answer right away, but Belle looked over her shoulder and caught him smirking, just a little bit. Their eyes met and his smirk disappeared. Belle's cheeks flushed just a bit. She let out a deep breath and he shifted, just slightly in his seat. "Are you unfamiliar with this part of Chicago?"

Belle shook her head, embarrassed. Was that what he intended? Did he have no design on her knowing this part of the city so that he could murder her – or worse? What was worse than murder? She shook her head and bit the inside of her cheek. "I'm not," she admitted as the car pulled to a stop in front of a building with glass doors and an older man in a uniform.

The driver got out and walked around the front of the car, opening the door for Belle. She slid out, blinking again: the tint on the glass was truly impressive, and she looked up, the building gleamed and she looked back, over her shoulder as Mr. Gold got out and moved with the same surprising grace of the other evening around the back of the vehicle. "Come, dearie," he motioned his head and moved toward the door, leaving Belle to clamor behind him.

The doorman, grizzled with age, nodded to Mr. Gold as he approached – apparently he knew him, and then looked Belle over from the highest hair on her head to the tips of her softly painted toes peeking out of her shoes. She dropped her eyes with a shy, embarrassed smile. The doorman gave Mr. Gold a serious, considering look and he nodded back – some kind of unspoken understanding between them. The man's white gloved hand wrapped around the handle of the door and they were allowed entry.

Mr. Gold went first, and Belle followed dutifully, "M-my bags?" she questioned softly, and he looked over her shoulder at her. Belle's expression was totally innocent, at least she thought it was mouth slightly open and eyes wide – his eyes flicked from her eyes, down and then up again.

"Hongrois will bring them up," he informed her and brought her to a set of elevator doors that must have been made of brass. He reached and pushed the button indicating up, and Belle stood next to him, messing with her hands in front of her. He looked over at her, "You needn't fret, Miss…" the realization she had never given him her last name must have fit because his tongue tripped and waited on the back of his teeth.

"French," she supplied, "Belle French."

He nodded, resuming what he had to say, "You'll be safe here." The doors to the elevator opened, revealing the interior with a rich carpet and mirrors with wood panels – it was the most stunning thing she had ever seen.

Belle walked in, her heels clicking and she was surrounded by her reflection, and that of Mr. Gold. He pressed the button for the top floor and the elevator started upward. Belle's stomach jumped in her core and her ankles quivered with the swift movement. She looked at Mr. Gold and he looked unfazed. "We don't have elevators like this in my building," she laughed awkwardly, wanting to at least attempt a conversation if she was being dragged to a roof to be murdered or something.

Mr. Gold was not the talkative type, it seemed though, and he just nodded, watching the doors. He confused her. He had cornered her in the alleyway, caressed her cheek with the very gloves he wore now, and had no qualms with making advances. Maybe it had been a ploy. She appreciated his intelligence, but she would have appreciated it a bit more if he wasn't so convincing that he made her stomach twist uncomfortably whenever he was near her.

When the door opened, it was a small hallway, leading to a single door. He strode forward; unlocking it and pushing it open, holding it for her. Belle looked at his face, searching for permission, and he granted it. "Welcome to my home, Miss French."

Belle was in awe as she entered what she could only describe as a penthouse. It was the type of place one only saw in magazines, with a mix beautiful old fashioned furniture and modern touches and things everywhere. The impeccably dressed and put together man was, at first glance, a complete pack rat – or at the least, incredibly messy. Papers sat all over his table – she assumed this meant he did not eat there much, and there were books all over. Those types of things she expected, but other things were more surprising – like the baubles and miscellany that were either draped haphazardly or displayed in cabinets that looked desperately in need of dusting.

Mr. Gold, again, did not see fazed by the state of his home and strode past her with the now all too familiar click of his cane against the expensive, wooden floors. She moved further in, surprised he actually had a new model television, and could only dream of what his kitchen might look like.

That wasn't what caught her eye though. The heavy, dark drapery on the walls behind the couch were certainly an odd decorative touch. She walked forward, ready to reach out and touch them – run the fabric through her fingers and see what was hidden behind when Mr. Gold cleared his throat. She turned, her skirt flaring out around her knees. Mr. Gold was watching her. "Would you care to see your room?"

"My room?" she hadn't even thought of that, draping suddenly holding far less appeal.

His lips formed into a thin line. "You didn't expect I'd have a dungeon, did you?" he asked dryly, though Belle had an inclination it was a joke – so much that she was able to laugh. For the first time, Mr. Gold looked surprised, and Belle's face softened – feeling, at least for the time being, she didn't have to worry about ending up in the river.

"No, no I didn't," she finally beamed and moved from the living area to his side. "Though, rumors might say otherwise."

He snorted, a sound she didn't expect, and started to lead the way down a hallway. She peered through an open door, catching site of a bathroom bigger than her own room at home. She gasped, imagining how much better her morning routine might be in such a place. He kept walking though, and Belle only lingered for a moment before she followed him to the next door, and he pushed it open. "I trust this will be more comfortable than a hay slat on the floor?"

Belle looked at his face, all hard lines and piecing gaze, before turning her eyes to the room with a small squeak of surprise. It was like nothing she had ever seen before. The bed was gigantic, and covered in a plush midnight blue blanket. There was a veritable sea of pillows and dressers made of wood so dark, in the right light they may appeared black. She rushed into the, gasping. Giant windows, revealing the whole of Chicago beneath her lined one wall, drapes sectioned at every corner, to be drawn, but now letting the full light of the sun in. With a quick twirl, Belle felt light and overwhelmed at the same time. "Mr. Gold," she breathed, "I can't accept this."

That also seemed to be surprising enough, as Mr. Gold smiled. "I believe, Belle, you already have." She liked when he called her Belle, rather than Miss French. It wasn't familiar. Having something familiar in this place just put her so much more at ease.

It was probably true enough, having gotten into his car with her bags and she didn't fight being brought here. She twisted her hands in her skirt and slowly walked forward, toward the door. "Thank you," she said softly, "for all of this, and my father…" she looked up, searching his face, "you didn't have to."

"The truth of the matter, Belle," his jaw was set and she wondered if she had done something wrong, "is that no one needs to do anything. But rather than wax philosophical on the finer points of necessity and desire," the way he spoke made her feel like she could listen to him speak of such things for hours, "you should acquaint yourself with the flat before your day begins."

Her day? A realization dawned on her and Belle gasped, looking at her watch. It was nearly eleven. "I – I have to be at the club by noon," she announced to the retreating lawyer, who stopped on a dime to look at her with raised eyebrows. His eyes questioned without having to say anything. "I'm being considered," she dropped her eyes, suddenly embarrassed, "for the cover."

Mr. Gold's whole face tensed at her admission and his grip tightened around his cane. She could see, even with the gloves, the way his fingers tensed and flexed. "Hongrois will drive you wherever you need to go," he was clipped, to the point. Perhaps she had said something wrong? "Whenever you need to go," he added, sounding extremely firm.

Belle twisted her hands in front of her and nodded. She had to trust him, if he was being so accommodating to her, what else could she do? "Alright," she looked up at him, "is there anything I can do to help out? Make sure I'm not just… in the way? With everything you're doing for me and my father…"

He lifted his hand, an immediate silencing and Belle followed the direction, eyes wide. "You needn't do anything," his brogue rolled and Belle watched the curve of his lips as he spoke and the way his hands moved as he brought his other hand down.

"I thought we weren't going to 'wax philosophical' about necessity and desire?" she quipped in return, surprised at her own quickness, and pleased, as her own smile widened, giggling despite herself.

A moment of pure ease, without tension, as he smiled too, and shook his head, "I suppose that's true, yes," he mused, a contemplative look on his face as he did. Belle smiled and reached up to push some of her hair behind her ear. Her eyes glanced upward, and there was an instant connection between them. It was almost comfortable, at least until the sound of the front door disturbed them and he turned. "Must be Hongrois," he murmured, "I'll direct him with your bags," he glanced at her, "You're free to do as you like until you need to go."

And with that, he limped away, as quick as he had come, and Belle felt an instant awkwardness at being left alone in this grand room with a view that never cease to amaze her. Even with the sun pouring through the penthouse and the warmth that radiated from it, the sound of his tapping cane moving further away somehow made cold shivers run down her spine and the huge flat seem that much bigger.


	6. VI

**A/N: **Hey guys! Guess I've gotten to be a bit of a speed demon with this one - but I was so excited to post this next chapter. I guess this is what happens when you are on bed rest! Hope y'all enjoy and continue to like/favorite/follow! The response has been great for such an out of left-field sort of idea! Thanks!

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Arriving at the club in a car was a different experience entirely. She had cleaned up a little bit in the expansive bathroom that she could not wait to explore after she returned from her shift, and reapplied her make-up. It wasn't a long drive from Mr. Gold's building, but long enough that when she was finished with fixing herself, he cautioned her she did not wish to be late, and that he was due back at the office as well.

So, she grabbed her bag and her coat, and walked out with him, trailing with nervous anticipation in her stomach. Hongrois had the Cadillac waiting and Belle smiled as Mr. Gold opened the door for her, lingering for a moment to see if he might smile back, only slinking into the seat when he gave her a faint twitch of the corner of his mouth. It was as much of a smile as she was going to get out of him.

The ride was silent. Hongrois knew where they were going, and Mr. Gold was not one to talk much. She tried to think of anything to say, but nothing seemed appropriate… nothing seemed like it would fit. He got tense when she mentioned the pictures, she didn't know if she should bring up why she was staying at his apartment, and he didn't seem like the type that might want to talk about the Billboard Top 40 hits.

So, until she knew more about him, these rides were going to have to be painfully silent, unless he started the conversation. When the car pulled in front of the club, Belle clutched her purse to her arm and giggled nervously. "Wish me luck?" she said shyly, as she reached for the handle of the door.

"I'm sure you don't need it, Belle," he commented, voice laced with hardness, but practically whispered so Belle had almost not picked up on what he was saying. Belle smiled at him, putting her feet down on the pavement, "Have a good day, Mr. Gold. Will you be at the club later?" He nodded in response. Belle, instead of climbing out of the car, leaned back into the car and reached over to put her hand on top of his, "I'll look forward to seeing you in my section," she smiled, full and genuine, before she did the unthinkable. She leaned just enough to brush her lips against his smooth cheek. Hongrois raised his eyebrows from behind his sunglasses (she could see through the rear view) and Mr. Gold sat ramrod straight. When she withdrew, Belle had a little flush on her cheeks, but he had done so much, he deserved it. "Thank you, Mr. Gold," she added, "and you too, Hongrois."

Belle pushed herself out of the car and shut the door behind her, leaving the silent men in her wake. She wondered why he reacted so… stiffly to being touched. Belle was a tactile person, she liked touching and feeling and moving. She knew some people weren't like that, but she couldn't imagine cringing at the idea of being touched. It made Belle feel a very deep sort of sadness.

In the same way she had resolved to smile and be as pleasant as possible in the club only days earlier (though it felt like weeks or months or lifetimes at this point), she would do the same in their shared space.

She felt lighter as she jaunted toward the entrance of the club – they used the front doors in the morning and glanced over her shoulder as the Cadillac idled on the side of the road. They were probably waiting for her to get inside. Waving to the tinted windows, she figured she would receive no wave in return, but something told her that was okay. So, she pulled open the glass doors and walked inside, a spring in her step.

Regina was in the club already, bustling around setting up a table in front of the stage, and Belle stopped before she passed, "Do you need any help, Regina?" she asked, pleasant and curious.

Regina stood up straighter, her deep purple dress clinging to her body in the most obscene way. Belle could never imagine wearing something like that – not in public. Sure, she wore her Bunny costume but that was different. It was inside these walls and here, she wasn't really herself, she was Bunny Belle, a fantasy – something to be enjoyed and looked at without any hope of touching… Obviously, some people pushed past those boundaries, but that wasn't the point…

When Regina looked up, her slow smile spread. "Bunny Belle, I didn't hear you arrive," she skirted the question and Belle wondered why. "Why so early?" there was suspicion in her voice, deep rooted enough that the air between them vibrated with it.

"I guess I was just anxious," she smiled with a bit of a shrug. It wasn't entirely untrue, she was anxious, but it wasn't exactly the whole truth either. Belle was so acquainted with falsehoods and half truths; it didn't even seem to bother her. "I can help," she smiled again; "it will keep me busy."

Regina sighed and clapped her hands together. "I think we're all set out here, actually, Belle." She tilted her head to the side and beamed, white teeth behind blood red lips. Belle nodded, fumbling with the strap of her purse. "You'll want to go backstage, Bunny," it seemed almost like a warning, "get ready. Mr. Hefner will be here very soon."

The thought made her heart thump in her chest. "Of course, thank you, Regina." She smiled, trying to look as confident as possible, even though she was horrified internally. She might have screamed, if she actually had somewhere to do it. "Will you be helping Mr. Hefner with the interviews?"

Regina laughed, just a little bit, enough to unsettle Belle and smiled, just a little too nicely. "Of course, Bunny Belle. That's why I'm here, to help in any way I can." Her emphasis on 'any' made Belle's stomach jump. There was something sinister about Regina, Belle didn't know what it was – but it wasn't always well meaning. Maybe it was just her constant quest for advancement, or the way that she never seemed to be genuine at all: Belle didn't like it.

But, she was her boss, and Belle just nodded. "Well, thank you, Regina," she smiled and started to walk toward the backstage area. She'd lock up her purse and compose herself, drink a little water, rest her eyes, maybe if she could. She hadn't slept well; she'd been up for hours… Yes, that sounded like a perfect idea.

"You're quite welcome, Bunny Belle," she called after her, and Belle's fingers flexed, trying not to betray the tension in the back of her neck and travelling down her spine. She hoped that when she talked to Mr. Gold or touched him he didn't get that feeling. She couldn't stand to think she made anyone feel like Regina made people feel. Hopefully she didn't make Hugh Hefner feel like that either… He had her future in his hands, after all.

She'd be lucky to even get through the interview with the ten thousand places her mind actually was. Sitting down at her typical station, Belle laid her arms on the counter and then put her head on top of them. Stretching her back, murmuring to herself, Belle sighed.

Squashing down the feeling, she had to remind herself that Mr. Gold had never willingly (to her knowledge) kissed Regina, nor had he taken her (again, to her knowledge) into his home to protect her – and it was well known where Regina's connections were. Belle wrinkled her nose. Was she actually thinking about this stuff?

Belle did her best to not ruin her make-up as she shifted in her seat and groaned. The sound of the door opening was enough for the sleepy bunny to lift her head, and yawn before greeting Sue and Tia, who seemed to arrive at the same time. The spirited girls were dressed to the nines, looking gorgeous and done-up without a flaw in either of them.

"Oh honey," Tia drawled, "You wake up on the wrong side of the bed this morning?" she asked, lifting Belle's chin and pushing her hair back. "Want me to fix your hair for you?" She was so sweet, and Sue was already taking a seat nearby.

Belle shrugged, "If they don't like me as I am," Belle smiled, "then I don't want to get picked."

She could hear Sue's audible sigh. "Belle, this is about more than integrity," she pointed out, "You get on the cover _and_ you get $2,000. You know what you can do with $2,000?" She sighed wistfully. Belle joined her in sighing now too, thinking of what she could do with that kind of money. Her and her father could move into a house – maybe not a great one, but a real house and they wouldn't owe anyone rent… Oh that would be just the thing.

Tia piped in as she tugged at the pins Belle's hair to redo them, "Seems like a dream, you know? I never really wished for anything, but to be on a magazine? Even Playboy and to get $2,000?" She shook her head, chuckling to herself. Belle winced as she tugged and twisted the front strands of her hair, "It seems unreal."

"A lot seems unreal at this point," Belle pointed out before she even realized she was saying it. Thankfully, instead of asking her about it, Dawn walked in, yawning, but looking lovely, followed shortly by Ashley, who seemed in the best spirits of all of them. It must have been close to noon. "Is Mr. Hefner out there yet?" Belle asked, looking up at the two girls.

"Not yet," Ashley piped in, practically bouncing on her toes, fluffing her blonde curls in the mirror with a busy sort of hum. "Just Regina." Ashley wrinkled her nose and rolled her shoulders, "I don't think she likes me," she commented, doing her mascara with a fish mouth.

All the girls shared a laugh, but Tia was the first to point out, "Honey, I don't think she likes anyone," and she twisted another piece of Belle's hair, tugging it back into a half-up half-down number that actually, when Belle looked into the mirror, was pleasing.

"Tia, you're the best," she went to reach up and touch, but Tia swatted her hand away, admonishing her for even trying with a harsh look, but ultimately sweet smile that made Belle laugh. "Alright, no touching! Maybe I'll even keep it in for tonight?" she shrugged thoughtfully, trying to turn her head enough to see the back of her head in the other mirror.

As she tried to admire herself, and the other girls talked about how excited they were, all focusing on some aspect of the prize, Belle liked the arrangement Tia did and turned on the stool, ready to chime in about how she'd gladly take the money and leave the picture, but they were interrupted as the door to the floor opened and suddenly, an all encompassing silence settled over them and without breathing, every single one of them looked to Regina as she strolled in. "Now this is the kind of reception I appreciate," Regina smirked. "Mr. Hefner is outside, as are some of the board members of Playboy Magazine." Belle looked around as the eyes of the girls widened considerably, "We will be calling you each in one at a time. Proceed to the stage, we'll be asking you questions. After that, you're free to leave and come back or stay until your shifts. Good luck. Dawn, you're first."

The blonde's expression went through the entire spectrum, all the way from excited to horrified to resolute, and the other girls watched silently as Dawn followed her out. Their voices were silenced and the atmosphere in the room was absolutely stifling. Ashley took the seat next to her and they both reached out, lacing their fingers together.

They exchanged supportive looks, and Belle couldn't help but feel guilty. She was only doing this because she could use the money. She didn't want it – not like these girls wanted it. It was almost enough to make her stomach fall straight to the bottom of her body with guilt. She watched as each girl, one by one, was called out. Belle watched, Dawn came back in hopeful and chirped for Sue, and the minutes dragged on for what seemed like hours, her and Ashley's hands woven together with reassuring squeezes passed between them, more for Ashley's sake than Belle's.

When Sue came in and asked for Ashley, she felt a strange absence when Ashley let go of her and practically squeaked. "Wish me luck," she whispered and Belle smiled. Ashley deserved – so did Sue, or Tia, or Dawn. It could have easily belonged to any of them. There were only two of them left, and by the time Ashley came back, she announced it was Tia's turn and they all gave her a thumb's up. The girl had started out as a seamstress at the club and worked her way up to Bunny. That was the kind of girl who needed this – not Belle, who was just as happy making tips. She'd put her pictures in for Ruby, but now she wasn't sure.

How could one person have so much doubt at the most inappropriate time to have doubts? Taking a deep breath in through her nose, Belle sighed. Ashley resumed her post, staying for support, and Belle smiled at her. She was such a good friend. No one left either, incredibly kind of them. They were supportive, everyone was there as much for themselves as the others, and as it dwindled down, as Belle was the only one left, all eyes turned on her when it was her turn to round out the five finalists.

She rose from her seat, dressed the most modestly out of them all, with the least loud make-up and she just had to trust that maybe it wasn't meant to be and one of these other lucky, lovely ladies would be the one. Smoothing down the front of her dress, Belle took a deep breath and exited – trying not to have the image of Mr. Gold looking so displeased in her head as she walked out.

The row of men sitting with Regina was mostly comprised of people Belle didn't recognize. She did, however, recognized the dark haired man in the middle. His shrewd look and sharp suit were enough, but Hugh Hefner, actually in the flesh, looking at her as she crossed to the stage, she almost faltered in her heels. Reminding herself to smile, Belle climbed the small set of stairs and gave a small wave, "Hello Mr. Hefner, Regina, Gentlemen," she nodded to each and smiled as they murmured their greetings.

The silence in between her greeting and the first question was maddening, and Belle fidgeted on the stage – lost in her thoughts of earlier in the day, thoughts of what she was doing right now, and what would happen in the future. The questions ranged from why she wanted to be a bunny – to help her father, to make something of herself when everything else was going to hell around her, complete with language that made Regina's eye grow to the size of dinner plates, to what she dreamed of – finishing college, making something of herself, helping people – follow ups pressing her for the specifics, to which Belle had nothing to give.

Then there was the final question, the one that tripped off Hefner's lips without any trouble at all: "Why do you want to be on the cover?"

Belle's mouth went dry. It was as though cotton had suddenly replaced each of her teeth, and her mind, for the first time was blank. She had no idea what to say to that. "I…" she glanced at Regina's face, her jaw hardening. Belle couldn't say what she wanted to say – she still needed this job. She lowered her eyes and sighed, nervously playing with the fabric of her skirt, "Honestly, Mr. Hefner? I don't deserve the cover. I – I don't even want it. I'm happy being a bunny," She shook her head, licking her lips, taking the question out of his mouth before had the chance to ask it, "the four other girls sitting back stage want this more than I ever could."

There was a pregnant pause – stillness set in each of them and Belle stood for a moment before she started to move back toward the stairs at the side. "I'm sorry, but – it just… it isn't my dream." She stopped at the top step and looked back at them with a small smile, "Give it to Tia," she smiled, "or Ashley. They need it far more than I do."

And with that, Belle held her head up and walked down the stairs, feeling proud of herself for telling the truth, so proud she actually smiled. She was good at the smiling, the sweet talking on the floor, but when she wasn't all in something; it was so hard to sound real. The last portion of that interview had been the most honest she could have been in the entire twenty minutes.

As of right now, her ultimate goal was not being on the cover of a national magazine – not as the model anyway. She wanted to survive whatever firestorm would come of what she had heard the other night, make sure her father stayed out of harm's way, and didn't get thrown out onto the street for some kind of infraction in Mr. Gold's eyes. She wanted to make enough money to move and then go back to college. As much as $2,000 would help – this wasn't how she could do it. She'd get another job if she had to – but not this…

She heard chairs moving behind her, but she did not dare turn her head. The only way she knew Regina was following was by the sound of clicking heels quickly approaching after her, and Belle darted into the back room, shaking with residual anxiety she couldn't let out on the stage.

The room remained silent though, and Regina looked over each and every one of them, lingering and searching their faces with her scrutinizing, dark eyes. "Mr. Hefner was impressed with all of you," she finally stated, so matter of fact it almost seemed like it didn't matter, "and he – with the help of the board – will have a winner picked by the end of your shifts tonight. Like last night, do not leave straight away."

Belle gulped. Regina was trained on her last, her eyes bearing holes into her. "Bunny Belle," she practically hissed, "My office. Now." She turned on her heel without another word and stalked down the hall. Belle sat in stunned silence for a few moments, each of the girls looking at her like she had grown a third eye or a second head.

Ashley squeezed her hand again, and Belle gulped, knowing just how much she would actually need the support. Regina was bristling, and if she lost this job… it was hard to justify keeping what little integrity she had left as a consolation for losing her job. They'd never get back on their feet.

Belle had to reassure herself that this was the best choice that she could make for herself. Whatever happened, she didn't want to take the cover from someone else. If that meant getting herself fired, she'd get herself fired. She'd bounced back before. So, she stood from her seat and walked the long hallway to Regina's office – the very last. Frosted glass stared at her and Belle felt her stomach lurch with every step she took.

Before, her fate rested in the hands of Hugh Hefner. To some degree, it still did. He could have demanded she be fired, but now it was also in Regina's hands. Regina, the woman who said she was there to help with everything, and yet, smiled with needles for teeth and poison in her saliva. Bravery was what she needed, Belle reminded herself, and pushed the door open just enough to hear Regina all too calmly bid her to enter, and then take a seat with an elegant wave of her hand. Belle took the seat and remained silent. "Bunny Belle," Regina hissed, "I am extremely disappointed in your performance. What were you thinking?"

Belle had two options: she could tell the truth with or without a honey coat. Maybe she could navigate a middle road. "I can't do it," she nodded, accepting the truth of it finally. She couldn't do it. "It just… it isn't what I want for myself, Regina. I don't want my father to see something like that," she didn't want her current benefactor to kick her out for it, "I'd rather just work hard on the floor, be a bunny, and stay out of the limelight. I don't want it like the others do."

"Then why, pray tell," her voice was a harsh cut right through Belle's chest, "did you submit your pictures?" To emphasize the point, she tossed the three pictures, paper clipped together on the desk in front of Belle.

Belle looked at them, so unfamiliar with the girl in those pictures. She was beautiful, surely, but she wasn't the same one who sat in front of Regina in the modest baby blue dress, she wasn't who Belle saw herself as. "Ruby and Ashley made me," she answered honestly, "They were so excited – I couldn't say no." Her cheeks burned.

"Couldn't say no?" Regina parroted, her voice ringing hollow across the expanse of the desk. She felt a thousand miles away, and Belle felt incredibly small. "Wouldn't it have been better to say no earlier?" Her voice was crisp and agitated, eyebrows drawn in with every attempt to remain composed.

Belle swallowed and nodded, conceding the point. "That's true," she fiddled with the pictures in her hands, "very true." She looked up at Regina after shoving them in her purse, "I didn't want to disappoint them."

"Well, you've disappointed me," she cut Belle off, an almost growl in the back of her throat, "and worse than that, you embarrassed me – and in front of Hugh Hefner." Belle felt like a child being admonished by a teacher, the principal for getting into a fight that she had just been so proud of fighting. "I suggest, Bunny Belle, that you get your things and go."

Belle's eyes widened, frozen to the seat. "Go?" she echoed, choking back bile from the bottom of her throat – threatening to come up in a swift and violent heave. "I'm – are you – am I – am I being fired?" she felt her eyes start to sting. Every terrible scenario played in her head from unemployment to homelessness to getting tracked down by the mob… Belle wanted to run her hands through her hair, but she had to keep her composure. She had to look like she was calm, even if her insides were constricting and twisting.

"Oh no," Regina said- though strangely, it gave her no relief at all. "You're on probation, Bunny Belle. You will be expected to follow every rule, abide by every policy, and keep yourself in check at all times. If you take even one step," she lowered her eyes at her one, "out line, Bunny, and the doors will be shut." Belle had a deep suspicion that she did not just mean the doors to the club. "I'm giving you this evening to get your head together," she hissed, "I expect you back tomorrow with an attitude I can work with."

Belle didn't necessarily think she had a bad attitude, but she had to play the game. She nodded, understanding that this job was giving her the best shot at the most tips and a life that could eventually put itself back together when they caught up. "Yes, Regina," she nodded slowly, licking her bottom lip, "Of course. I'm sorry," her eyes flicked up, "for being an embarrassment to you."

Regina looked somewhat pleased, at least, that Belle apologized – but Belle used her words carefully. She wasn't sorry for what she did – what she said, but she was sorry that it got her in trouble with Regina, and made her feel like she was going to get fired. "You should be," she pushed herself up from the chair and Belle followed suit.

"Can I make a call first?" Belle bit her lip, usually she wouldn't ask, but being dismissed so readily really meant she had to go.

Regina frowned delicately and sighed, "Use the phone backstage," she waved, "then go home." Belle nodded and rose from the seat, apologizing once more before she quitted the office – probably the happiest she had ever been to leave a place in as long as she could remember. She wasn't fired; she had been sufficiently mortifying as a prospect for the magazine, and offered up two very legitimate options instead of her.

She clicked the door behind her, shut it on Regina and hurried down the hall, somewhere between elation and sobbing. She trembled as he entered the room, the other girls looking at her with concern etched all over their faces. "It's fine," she squeaked out, approaching the phone, "I just… I'm going home for the night. Tell everyone I said hello and that I'll be back tomorrow," she smiled as warmly as she could manage before disappearing into the other hallway to get to the phone.

The number Mr. Gold had given her was in her purse. She picked up the receiver with shaking hands and the little paper wavered in her hand as she dragged the old turn table dial. Each ring vibrated a little more forcefully than the last, and Belle twisted the cord around her fingers, breathing a deep sigh of relief when a thick, accented voice like Mr. Gold's answered on the other end, "Hongrois."

"Hongrois?" she echoed, her diminutive voice not what he expected – evidenced by the sound of gruff surprise on the other end. She looked over her shoulder, making sure no one was with her, but kept her voice low, just in case. "I was told I could call this number?"

"Do you need a ride, Miss?"

Belle strained to make out the voice through the accent, and once she did understand, she nodded feverishly. "Yes, yes please."

There was a long pause on the line, "Are you alright, Miss?" He asked concern clearly evident in his tone. Belle forced herself to laugh as she cradled the receiver next to her ear.

"I'm fine," she lied, but found it necessary. The man needed to just come get her and the fewer questions asked, the better, particularly if people were listening and she glanced around, again, just to make sure. "I got the night off – so I'd like to go," she paused, "home," rolling off her tongue in the most unfamiliar way. Another pause, "please?"

"Of course, Miss," and the phone clicked, without any further warning. Belle put the receiver back on and licked her lips. She walked toward the entry into the club – a door that the others wouldn't see her going out, and walked through the empty space.

It was strange to see it with the lights on and without anyone walking around. The smell of cigarettes and cigars still lingered, attached to the cloth and the decadence of everything only slightly taken away by the bright lights. Much like her mythical kitchen roaches, once the lights went on, the place cleared out, and only when the lights dimmed again did the mystery return and everything it promised.

Belle was almost glad she wasn't going to be


	7. VII

**A/N: **This update comes with LOADS and LOADS of fun! I adored writing this section. I hope you all like it too! I'm starting to love Hongrois, and since I know, I figured I'd fill in everyone! Hongrois is French for "From Hungary" but also is one of the believed origins of the word Ogre. He's basically Gold's bodyguard from "Skin Deep." With that, on with the show!

* * *

When the Cadillac pulled up, Belle felt ashamed, she supposed was the best word for it, or rather embarrassed, maybe that was better – especially when Hongrois got out of the driver's seat to open the door for her. Belle whisked through the glass doors and smiled appreciatively at him, "Thank you, Hongrois," she spoke delicately, and climbed straight into the back seat.

He shut the door behind her and Belle glanced out of the tinted window, upward toward the floors that housed the club. Belle French was playing with fire. Probation was a heavy word. Regina wasn't kidding around either. The woman practically looked for excuses, and climbing into Mr. Gold's Cadillac, if she saw it, was probably enough to send her off the deep end.

It was just another thing Belle had to worry about. She wished she could start looking at other options, but it just wasn't in the cards right now. She'd have to be especially careful. Licking her lips in the back seat, Belle shifted uncomfortably. She still hadn't done anything that would constitute thanking Mr. Gold and she took a deep breath. "Hongrois?"

"Yes, Miss?" the hulking man looked back through the rear view mirror.

Belle let out a deep breath, watching the street pass by, people going about their lives as they did, "Can we stop to get groceries, please?" A thousand ideas crossed her mind and Belle was suddenly at least venturing into something she knew she could do and do well. It wasn't enough to thank him, of course, but it was a start.

Hongrois nodded and pulled off of the main road. Belle assumed there was a grocery somewhere near by, and the idea that she could make something fresh and delicious for dinner was a pleasant one to her. She hadn't really eaten since that morning and it would be nice to eat at the actual time dinner occurred, rather than at four in the afternoon to avoid eating at the club. Drawing her eyebrows in, Belle smiled as they pulled up in front of a local store, "Do you happen to know Mr. Gold's favorite meal?" she asked, leaning over the front seat, smiling as wide as she could.

Maybe Hongrois didn't exactly smile back, but he did tell Belle what she needed to know and parked the car on the street to accompany her in the store. She reminded him that she did not need it, but he reminded her of Mr. Gold's orders, and she sighed. She was an adult. That would need to be talked about.

Maybe she'd bring it up over dinner, which she did make sure to invite Hongrois to stay for – apparently his first name was Sherman and Mrs. Hongrois was expecting him to come home. Belle never would have expected that she would be walking around a grocery store with a man dressed in a black suit, so tall that the top of her head didn't even come up to his shoulder, collecting items to make a dinner fit for Mr. Gold.

Though the chatting was stunted, Belle was pleased when they finally made the entire way around the store, and she was armed with everything she could possibly need to make a dinner worthy of a thank you. It was a bit of a splurge, but good steak was necessary, if he liked it so much, and Belle really wanted fresh produce with potatoes. They didn't eat much of that kind of thing at home.

But, Belle was at least proficient in the kitchen, and Hongrois was exceptionally helpful with the entire process, keeping her in check and directing her toward shortbread cookies that not only Mr. Gold liked, but were delicious in their own right. Upon first inspection, Hongrois might have seemed like a stoic, mean sort of ogre, but in reality, Belle learned, he was actually quite good company.

After she paid, he drove her back to he apartment building, insisting that he carry her bags upstairs for her – as well as clear her at the door. It appeared to work; though the new doorman, apparently the second shift, gave her the same skeptical look that the first had. Belle just smiled at him and walked through, straight to the elevator Mr. Gold had taken her to, and braced herself as she stepped in and the thing shot up. Hongrois also appeared completely unfazed by the sudden jolt upwards, whereas Belle still felt as though she might look pale from it.

Realizing she had no key, Belle looked to Hongrois, the hulking man handing her one of the weighty grocery bags before digging in his pocket to pull out a key. It would be much easier, Belle thought, if she had a key to get into the apartment. She wondered if she could bring that up at dinner too.

Walking in, Belle waited for Hongrois to lead her to the kitchen, only a few feet out of the entryway, and Belle gasped. It was the newest kitchen she had ever seen. The appliances were gleaming; the counters pristine, Belle had never seen anything quite so modern… or clean. Compared to the rest of what she had seen, particularly the living room, this room looked like he had never stepped foot inside of it. Belle frowned as Hongrois put bags on the counter, "Does he ever cook?" she asked, disbelief at this cleanliness of this portion of the house.

All she received as an answer was a brief shrug. Apparently it was a mystery to solve, and Belle sighed. "Well, thank you, Hongrois, for everything," she smiled. "I'll save you leftovers for your lunch tomorrow," she promised and he waved his hand, assuring she did not have to – to which Belle repeated the hand waving gesture: she wouldn't be told no, clearly, and as soon as the door clicked behind him – the sound of the lock turning as he went, Belle got to work.

Even being almost entirely brand new, even being set up entirely different from her own kitchen at home, Belle felt like she belonged here. She liked the comfort of the kitchen, the familiarity of locating pots, pans, spices, and items. After removing the dinner items from the bags, Belle set out to make the best dinner possible.

She bounced around the kitchen after kicking her shoes off and hummed as she started to prepare. The oven went on, she was peeling potatoes, cutting vegetables, grating cheese – it was going to be the best dinner Mr. Gold had ever had. When she opened the fridge to put the cheese away she was sure of it: it was empty, outside of one stick of butter.

Belle wondered where he ate – who made things for him – if he even ever stayed here. It was hard to imagine, the way that the center of a home could be so… empty. Maybe it was why he spent so much time with his clients and at the club, this wasn't really a home. If you only sustained yourself on a stick of butter, you couldn't be taking much care of yourself, Belle reasoned, letting the anxieties and stresses of the day slide off her shoulders and dissipate with every stroke of a peeler or sizzle in a pan.

She could understand Tia's preoccupation with food and cooking – she always talked about how it was the way to share with people, to bring them together. Belle doubted anyone had cooked a meal for Mr. Gold since he was a child. She wondered when the last time anyone called him anything but Mr. Gold was. It was strange, him having her first name, and her only knowing his initial: R.

It wasn't a suitable thing to call someone, a letter. And if she was sharing a space with him – it was just another thing to bring up over dinner. This was going to be the most productive dinner Belle had ever had, perhaps rivaling her morning deception with her father.

There was just something about food that made everything a lot more palatable (literally and figuratively). In the absence of anything to busy her hands, Belle moved to the cabinets, looking for place settings and figured she'd get the table ready too. Belle gathered the plates for two, cutlery, napkins, all the trappings of a completely normal dinner with absolutely nothing normal about it.

Belle walked out of the kitchen and frowned. There was the dining room table, covered in books and papers and every manner of senseless thing. She couldn't imagine eating on it – all ostentatious with dark wood, a chair (more like throne) with maroon velvet upholstery at the end of it, and crowded like it was his work desk – she briefly wondered if she looked around this place would she find another room full of work? Would she find several? All in good time, she reminded herself, and turned her sites on a less formal arrangement – a smaller, glass table with only four chairs around it, and suitably black and plain – and even more importantly: clear.

It was infinitely easier to set this table. She placed everything down, like she had been taught when her mother was still alive. The thought immediately pulled her into an entirely different place, wondering what her mother would have thought now – and what her father was doing. She had to call him, at some point, she reminded herself, if he would even be in his room. Something told her he was more likely to be at the Mother Hub's with the guys playing cards until the early hours of the morning. The thought was simultaneously depressing and infuriating.

She worked so hard to put things back together, but he was just trapped. Teaching old dogs new tricks was supposed to be impossible, but Belle tried every day, when she could. She just wanted him to be happy, accept what happened, and pull himself out of the gutter. Unfortunately, she couldn't force him until he decided to force himself. Being the dutiful daughter was just about all she could do.

So lost in thought, Belle didn't hear the door open until Mr. Gold walked in faster than she had ever seen him walk before. "What is going on?" he asked, without proper greeting and bristling like a porcupine.

Belle looked up, placing the last knife on the table. "Hello to you too," she greeted with a smile. "Dinner, I believe, is going on."

Mr. Gold huffed and moved quickly through the entry way to a cabinet Belle hadn't even noticed in the corner. He unlatched it and pulled out a glass and a square bottle – two things she was far too familiar with, and he poured himself a glass of the amber liquid. "You aren't at the club," he stated simply, forcefully, before taking a sip.

"Regina gave me the night off," truth, and she brushed her hands together, taking a moment from setting the table to walk over and close the cabinet. "You haven't eaten anything yet," she pointed out, closing the clasp, "you'll get sick."

Mr. Gold regarded her for a moment before he lifted the glass to his lips, eyes never leaving hers as he tipped it back and drank the whole thing without even a flinch. He placed it down on the flat edge in front of the cabinet doors and looked at her. "She doesn't give anyone the night off. What happened?" Completely ignored her decree about no on the alcohol, she should have known. Men.

Taking a deep breath in, Belle shook her head. "I guess she was having a good day," she smiled, despite herself, and leaned her hand on the very counter the glass was on, her other on her hip. "Sit at the table," she soothed, "Dinner will be out in a couple of minutes."

He pulled his brows in, already thin lips getting thinner as he stared at her in the face. Belle, strangely, felt nothing like the fear she had felt earlier, when he burst in, it wasn't because of anger, she could tell. She didn't know what it was, but he wasn't mad – at least not at her. "You don't have to do these things," he motioned toward the kitchen, "You aren't here in the capacity of maid."

Belle snorted an indecorous sound at best and shook her head, placing her hand on the side of his arm, the flinch of his muscles apparent under her touch. "I know," she smiled, wrinkling her nose, "I'm here for witness protection," she teased, "but if I didn't make something, we'd have probably starved tonight."

He didn't seem amused, but he didn't lash out either – and Belle took that as a victory. "Whatever you need, inform Hongrois. He will retrieve it and pay for it. You shouldn't be wasting your money."

"After you taste my garlic mashed potatoes, I don't think you'll consider it a waste," she smiled, brushing past him with the lightest of touches between her arm and his. She glanced over her shoulder, "Table, please?" she smiled and then dashed into the kitchen, the confused look on his face propelling her into the kitchen even faster.

Making up plates, Belle wanted everything to be just so. She hadn't really planned on being so… meticulous, but as she pulled the steaks out of the oven, she felt like she needed to make sure everything was just right. As much as she needed to trust him, he needed to trust her, so it was with diligence that she plated potatoes, steak, and green beans onto each of the beautiful dishes she had picked from the cabinet.

Carrying the two plates out, Belle grinned at Mr. Gold who had taken a seat at the table. She could only imagine how much trouble he had picking since there was no head of the table. She imagined that was a dilemma in and of itself. Placing his down first, Belle smiled, "I might have cheated a little – Hongrois helped me."

Mr. Gold shifted in his seat, appearing to be decisively uncomfortable. "He would," he stated simply, looking up at her. It took a moment for Belle to realize that he was looking at her to sit as well, and she quickly arranged herself in the seat next to him with a bright smile. "Again, you didn't have to do this."

"I know," she agreed, "but I wanted to." He shrugged and finally started to cut into his food. Belle did the same, and was quite pleased with herself as she tasted what she put together.

Of course, as soon as eating started, conversation halted – and the awkward finally settled in. Belle's eyes fluttered around, from her plate to her host, and then around the room, before settling on her plate or the things in her hands – it was an entirely strange experience. She had to talk – it was going to drive her crazy. "Regina did give me the night off, you know," she took in another mouthful of potatoes.

Mr. Gold looked at her, a slow suspicious kind of glance as he slowly mulled whatever variation of his food was actually in his mouth (all Belle's careful plating went to hell when he swirled it all together in one big mess). "What did you do?" he asked, and color immediately rose to Belle's cheeks.

She cleared her throat, averting her gaze and poked the last few green beans around on the plate. "Figures you'd know," she laughed a little bit, more of embarrassment than anything else and looked up, curls from her previously done up hair having fallen out of the pins over the course of the day. "I threw the cover," she bit her lip, staring at her plate again.

Mr. Gold's fingers twitched. The knife and fork stilled on the plate and he looked at her, a searing sort of stare that made Belle's cheeks burn even brighter. "Elaborate, dearie."

And as she was commanded, Belle did, putting down her utensils in favor of having her hands free. "They were asking these questions," Belle licked her lips, shaking her head, "and it just… I didn't feel right," she looked at him, "lying like that. I just… I told the truth. Regina was so angry." She shook her head and pushed her plate away. Somehow, the rest of the food wasn't as appetizing.

"She's always angry," he mused, leaning back in his seat. Somewhere between when they had started and now he had finished everything, much to Belle's surprise – a man with so slight a frame didn't appear as though he could eat so much or so quickly. "What did you say?"

Belle started to stand from the table as she spoke, "Just that I didn't want it like the others did – I didn't deserve it." She shrugged, and Mr. Gold made a scoffing sound that surprised her. "What?" she went to grab his plate and utensils, leaning across the table.

"It's easy to accept you didn't want it, but deserve it?" he shook his head. "Words are important, dearie. You shouldn't use them without consideration."

Belle put the dishes down, silverware stacked on top and frowned. "I know about words, Mr. Gold," she felt suddenly defensive, and this required her full attention, just to make sure he was very aware. "Before I had to drop out of Northeastern, my whole life was made up of words."

"And now it's corset jumpsuits and bunny ears?" he leaned back in his chair, raising his eyebrows at her. She couldn't tell what his expression was, but Belle was not enjoying it.

Licking her lips, she picked up the plates again and stepped back from the table. "A temporary position," she informed him with a huff and a quick pivot on her bare heel. "I want to go back," she breathed, "finish what I started – be a journalist."

She didn't look at him as she walked away from the table and into the kitchen depositing the dishes with a clatter into the sink. She turned on the faucet and braced herself against the counter, dropping her head against her chest for a moment. "A journalist?" his brogue rolled from the room. Belle spared a glance over her shoulder and saw him leaning against the door frame. He'd shed his suit jacket and just stood there in a crisp white shirt and red tie. "Ambitious."

"I've heard that before," she laughed softly, dipping her hands into the warm water, grabbing the sponge and dish soap. "I want to travel," she explained, "see the world." She heard his cane tapping getting closer and she continued to scrub when he took a place next to her, lifting the dish towel from the counter. "Though, I guess this is a wonder of the world I'd never thought I'd see." Mr. Gold raised his eyebrows as she handed him a plate, "a man willing to dry the dishes? I'll have to call President Johnson, declare a national holiday."

She laughed, and his shoulders jumped silently when she handed over the plate. "It's not quite as… impressive as all that. President Johnson is a touch busier than that, I expect," the second plate passed between them, and they exchanged muted smiles.

"I don't know," she shrugged, abandoning the sponge to wash the forks by hand. "My dad never helps with the dishes, George never did either," she shrugged, handing him the forks. She was about to explain when she stuck her hands in the water again, yelping as a sharp twinge stung at her hand and the soapy water obscured her view, but tinged pink as her hand came closer to the surface.

Mr. Gold immediately grabbed her wrist, pulling her hand under the cool stream of water. He held her steady, despite her flinching. She did her best to bite her lip and abstain from whimpering. He withdrew her hand from the stream and examined her hand with sharp eyes. "Good news, you'll get to keep your hand," he said with such a straight face that Belle gasped, and he looked up at her, a devious sort of smirk on his face.

Belle scoffed and he grabbed the towel to wrap it around her hand. "Go, out of the kitchen – you don't need to hurt yourself again."

She flexed her hand around the bandage and frowned deeply. "I'm not a child, you don't need to treat me like one," she informed him, following him as he walked out of the kitchen. She wasn't going to keep going with the stinging sensation in her hand. "I take care of myself, and my father. I work very hard – I don't need someone babying me."

Mr. Gold stopped as the entered e living room and looked at her, truly looked at her, and Belle felt that same feeling she had right before he kissed her: intimidation, but also intimacy. There was something strange about sharing a space with someone, you got to know them quite quickly, and though Mr. Gold had shared almost nothing of himself, Belle was free with her own story, and felt rather exposed at the moment. "You're here, my dear, because you can't protect yourself. But you are right, you are not a baby," his gaze told her all she needed to know about what he thought about being a baby.

Even when she felt her stomach clench and blush rise up on her cheeks, his words still rubbed her the wrong way. Belle shook her head. "Don't patronize me," she ordered her good hand flying up and into her chestnut curls. "It's been a rough couple of days, alright?" she looked at him, tired eyes and drooping shoulders. "Ever since I took those damned pictures – everything's gone to hell," he tensed again, and Belle rolled her eyes, obviously frustrated. "What do you have against the pictures anyway?" she asked agitation in her voice.

He licked his bottom lip and tightened his hand over his cane, cracking his neck. "Perhaps, dearie," he almost hissed through a clenched jaw, "you'd be better off resting. I am going to my office." And with that, he turned on his heel, snatching up his jacket from the back of the chair, and stomped just a little harder than he had before down the hallway, past her guest room's door and slammed whatever door he entered behind him.

Belle huffed, not impressed with his little display, and took deep breaths. He was her host. She was supposed to be grateful, but she couldn't help but feel just a little frustrated beyond reason at the moment. One cut wasn't the end of the world, and she didn't need to be reminded that she couldn't protect herself or her father.

She had heard rumors that he was a bastard. That was most assuredly true; but he also had that moment where he dried dishes like a decent human being, and joked about President Johnson, and Belle rubbed her temples, attempting to avoid screaming in frustration.

Dropping the blood cloth on the counter, she looked at her cut hand, satisfied that it would be fine – it was superficial, barely broke the skin, and she sighed, each contraction and release of her fingers making it burn. She'd just have to deal with it by distraction.

Belle walked into her room and flipped open the latches on her suitcases, sighing as she withdrew her nightgown and held it up, shaking the wrinkles out. It was knee length and made of soft, blue fabric. Slipping off her day dress and tugging it on, Belle felt an instant relief, grabbing her bathrobe as well, and tugging on the soft fabric. She rummaged for a pair of socks and pulled them on, letting out a deep sigh. The layers of her day were gone and Belle finally felt a semblance of comfort, wrapped in her night clothes.

It was also time to hit up that fabulous bathroom. Belle inched out of her room, finding the hallway as bare as it had been before and then quickly tip-toed two doors over to the bathroom, flicking on the light. It was even better on the inside, she realized. The bathtub was huge – and separate from the shower – the shower with glass doors. Everything seemed to be made of glass now, and there were two sinks – two! Belle ran her hand over the beautiful marble, looking in the mirror. The room was pristine.

There was a little side closet and Belle opened it, fresh, fluffy towels waiting right behind it. There were other things, cleaning supplies on the bottom, some extra soap – nothing out of the ordinary, a few pill bottles, some creams – nothing she would have found odd. But, she didn't want to snoop too much, so she grabbed a washcloth and walked back to the sink. She turned on the water, finding it blessedly hot without having to wait ten minutes. How nice it must have been to live in a place like this.

Belle was fairly certain in her building, even when they were on time with the bills, nothing worked – and their landlord was a veritable ogre. Their neighbors weren't much better. Who wasn't fighting? What children weren't screaming? Belle tried her best to smile at all those that passed and offered to help some of them, but it was never enough. Here, she couldn't imagine anything bad touching the penthouse, living on top of the world.

Wiping the layers of make-up from her face, Belle let out a deep breath, the bright red of her lips dimmed to a rosy sort of pink, her cheeks their natural flush, and eyes shining on their own accord, without the aid of mascara and eyeliner. She glanced down at the washcloth, a mess with products, and Belle blushed, throwing it into the hamper by the door – the only thing that seemed slightly unseemly, filled with things for washing.

It wasn't hard to linger in the bathroom though, running her hands over the porcelain tub – the biggest tub she had ever seen, and then moving to the shower, pushing the door open to see inside. It was dark tiling, a sort of midnight blue up to her chest height, and then white walls going up – the showerhead gleamed and there was only one bottle of shampoo and one bar of soap. Belle was thankful she shoved everything she possibly could into her suitcases: this would do nothing for her morning routine. Thankfully, it was only a temporary solution.

Carefully shutting the doors, Belle took one more look at the expanse of the bathroom, trying to decide what she would prefer in the morning – a bath in the biggest tub she'd ever seen, or a shower in the nicest one she'd ever laid eyes on – both were potentially the best decisions ever, but she wasn't going to do that now.

She was finally cooled off, finally able to process that she had been somewhat dreadful to Mr. Gold (though he was also dreadful – mitigated only slightly by the fact that it was his home and he was doing her a favor). Taking a deep breath, she knocked on the door of the study; a grumbling from within – something she couldn't understand – met her knock.

Belle, as much as she thought she could steal her nerves, had to take another moment before she pushed the door open and poked her head in. "I was going to make some tea," she pressed her lips together, "would you like any?"

He lifted his head from whatever he was working on, peering at her over his glasses. She hadn't realized he wore them, and he seemed to notice her looking because he ripped them from his face as soon as it registered. "Tea?" he repeated, "Yes, I suppose that would be fine. One sugar, no cream," still pretending to have a stiff upper lip and being hard, and Belle nodded, quietly shutting the door as she backed out.

She wondered, briefly to herself, if he put the glasses back on after she left. Surely a man like Gold wasn't so worried about what a nobody like Belle thought – she wasn't going to tell anyone about it. But, whatever the case, she made her way into the kitchen and actually knew where the tea and cups were now – after her afternoon of exploration.

She put on a kettle, took out some cups, and grabbed the only tea he had in the cabinet. She made short work of the whole process, shifting anxiously from one foot to the other as the water heated and she readied the cups. Breathing in deep through her nose, she poured the hot water into the cups and smiled as the steam curled up around her face and tickled the inside of her nose, preparing each cup to their preferences. Belle liked hers a little sweeter and a little milkier, and she made quick work of the whole thing.

Gripping the cups by the handles, Belle padded softly back toward the office and frowned at the closed door, trying to jumble the mugs in her hands. Tea sloshed against the edges of the cups and she yelped as the hot water splashed on her hand – uncomfortable, at best.

When she finally managed to grasp both handles in one hand, Belle opened the door and pushed it open with a small smile. He wasn't wearing the glasses this time, Belle noted, and she looked for an empty space to put his cup down. His hands busied themselves making space, and Belle smiled as she put the mug down. "Wouldn't want to ruin any of your papers," she shrugged softly, clasping her now free hand around her own mug.

"You won't," he answered softly, eyes only lifting from whatever book he was searching through for a moment before turning back downward. Belle gulped and took a small sip of her tea, waiting to see if he was pleased. Her eyes flitted from him to the teacup, and he lifted it, taking a sip with the most impassive face she had ever witnessed. "Thank you."

Belle smiled, slow but genuine, and lowered her eyes, then brought them back up again. He quirked his lips at her before picking up one of the papers and holding it up, creating a wall between them. Belle stood there, in her pajamas, cradling her teacup and breathed. "Thank you," she finally said, and his hand lowered, eyes focused on her, instead of the words he probably couldn't even see on the page and eyebrows rose high on his forehead. "For taking care of my hand, I didn't thank you for it."

He shrugged a wordless answer to her and Belle sighed with another sip of tea. She hated feeling like she was on bad terms with someone – at least when those bad terms revolved around something that she could fix. "And sorry for ruining the dish rag," she blushed, "I can bleach it tomorrow…"

This seemed to catch his attention, and Belle smiled embarrassed. "It's just a towel," he shrugged and Belle smiled at him, again, biting her bottom lip. Her nose wrinkled and she giggled, just a little bit. "Goodnight, Belle," he said, a soft dismissal and Belle took a few careful steps back toward the door.

"Are you going to bed as well?" she asked, tracing her finger around the rim of the mug, concern clearly written in every syllable.

His busy hand stilled, and he shook his head. "Soon," he informed her. "Goodnight."

"Don't stay up too late," she smiled, pushing the door and slipping through the crack with her head left in the room. "Goodnight," she added a brief flicker of a smile on his face before she withdrew entirely and shut the door with a light click behind her.


	8. VIII

**A/N: **Thanks to everyone who has reviewed and has been enjoying the story as much as I have been enjoying writing it! So much stuff is going on and it's getting kind of crazy long, at this point, but Belle is sassier, Mr. Gold is bolder - and everything is looking up! Hope you guys like this one!

* * *

When she walked into the club the next day, everything seemed substantially different, and yet, completely the same. She stepped out of the car, thanking Hongrois for the hundredth time, to which he replied the same way each time: "No need to thank me, Miss." The only difference was, this time he smiled – a small thing, no teeth showing, just a vaguely upturned corner of his lips to signal that he knew and appreciated it – probably didn't get much thanking from Gold, and then busied herself with running through the glass doors in a whirl of sea green skirt.

She wasn't early today, at least not as early as the previous day and some of the girls were already there, tittering with one another. Belle dropped into her usual seat, more rested than usual, and Ruby immediately plopped down next to her. "Where the hell were you last night?" she hissed through her teeth, eyebrows drawn in and lips pursed.

Belle blinked her coat not even off – purse not even in her locker and tilted her head at Ruby. "What do you mean? I was at home." It was strange, how easy lying became the more and more you did it. But, it wasn't only for her sake she was lying – Mr. Gold had a reputation, she had a job that needed protecting, and friends that needed protecting too. Working at the Playboy Club wasn't exactly the safest option for any young woman; she didn't need to shove any of the others in the way of trouble.

"You were supposed to work," Ruby frowned, "And you weren't here to hear! Sue got the cover," her shoulders drooped with a sigh. "I was sure you or Ashley were going to get it! I'm sorry," she put her hand on Belle's knee and Belle smiled placing hers atop the cherry colored nails.

"It's alright," she smiled, not wanting to upset the girl. "Sue will do us all proud," she nodded, truly meaning the words, despite Ruby's baleful look and the roll of her eyes. "Don't be like that," she disentangled their hands and tapped Ruby's bare knee just a little harder than she needed to, "Be gracious and maybe it will be your turn next time."

Ruby huffed, making a sound similar to that a horse might and withdrew her hand, leaning back. "So, what did you do instead last night? Big night off – how'd you spend it? Please," her voice dragged, eyes wide and expectant, "don't tell me you stayed home. Please?" she whined.

Belle laughed, shaking her head at Ruby. The poor girl couldn't - wouldn't even know half of it. "Sorry to disappoint, Ruby," she smiled softly, "but I just made dinner and then had tea." That was true – at the very least, and Ruby sniffed, shaking her head, declaring Belle was wasting her life on dinner and tea and could have actually had fun for once – which would have been true, if that was all there was to it.

But it wasn't, was it? There were moments with Mr. Gold, some pleasant, some tense, and all confusing beyond reason, which made it a as untypical a night 'at home' could have been. But, to Ruby, to anyone she told, it was going to sound like the life she kept her normal routine.

Letting out a deep sigh, Belle swiveled in the mirror to touch up her make-up. It wasn't so hard, to be on top of her usual, even with her secrets. It was the same brush of eyeliner, the same dab of rouge, and the oh-so-familiar stroke of lipstick. Everyone else was going about their business, hairspray and perfume floating around the backroom before Regina's voice barked for them to come out to the floor for the Bunny Meeting.

It was a weekly event based on torture. Regina dragged them out, gave them the weekly news, and delighted in ripping them apart, when she felt the need. Belle had a distinct fear Regina would feel the need today – and Belle would be a target.

Steeling her nerves, Belle stood straight and walked out onto the floor with the other girls, sitting with Ashley, Ruby, and the newly entering Mary Margaret, who she directed very small wave to before Regina immediately started. "It's been a busy week, ladies," she announced in that clear, crisp voice, "With many ups and downs," she looked several people in the eyes at this point, Belle could only tell who she was looking at when their own eyes met. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

"First, I'd like to say congratulations, once again, to Sue, for being Mr. Heffner's choice model for the cover." Everyone obliged with a round of applause, even Ruby who only half-heartedly put her hands together for the beaming young woman. Belle was happy for her, really, but Mary Margaret reached over and squeezed Belle's shoulder, thinking she was comforting her.

Mary Margaret was perhaps the sweetest person Belle knew and she smiled at her over her shoulder, at least until Regina took a few sharp steps forward, her dangerously high heels smacking against the dance floor's surface. "Though, I must say, despite that brilliant performance, some of you bunnies," her eyes slid straight toward Belle, who refused to sink in her seat, "have failed to meet expectation this week." Her piercing gaze was removed from Belle and turned on the group at large, "Can anyone tell me what the three most important rules here at the Bunny Club are?"

Belle's intention may not have been to slink down into oblivion, but she certainly wasn't going to answer the one question she was probably guilty of breaking on so many levels. Swallowing hard, she looked around almost in tandem with Regina. Extending a long, elegant hand, Regina pointed into the crowd, "Tia, enlighten us, please."

The brunette looked shocked for a moment before she sat up, clearing her throat. She didn't look thrilled either, to be honest – probably still sore about the cover, she really wanted it, but she wasn't going to upset her. "Well, first rule is never give out your information – full name, phone number, address – anything – to a club member."

Regina nodded and put her hands on her hips. Tia, apparently, was expected to continue. Belle's stomach twisted anxiously, rule one: broken. "Second rule," Tia continued, "is to never take information from club members." Rule two: very much broken. "and lastly, a Bunny can never – ever – get involved with a club member." Rule Three: Ambiguously broken, at best. Involvement in some capacity, though Belle was certain she couldn't define it in any meaningful way.

They had an arrangement, they danced around one another, and Belle found herself wanting to win his favor – if she had lost it, she found it exceedingly hard to tell. Even as she woke up before him to make breakfast, and laid it all out, he just seemed surprised, and insisted over and over that she didn't have to do that. Belle was beginning to think that he didn't believe her when she said she wanted to.

She did, truly. Being useful was something she liked, and keeping busy was good for her. She hated being idle, and if she was awake, per her normal schedule (and an exceedingly early and much needed turn in from the night before), Belle had wanted to. She even made him a lunch to take to the office, which was met with an increased sense of surprise. If not for the fact he wouldn't go home before he came to the club, Belle would have pre-made dinner too.

Instead, she spent the better part of the day turning into a prune in the bathtub with a book she found in the living room. It was a law book, somewhat dry, but Belle had never given much thought to the law. Criminal proceedings sounded interesting enough, and despite it's somewhat dry beginning, Belle found herself very interested in research, facts, and eye witnesses by the time her hours of bath had truly turned her into a soggy prune and forced her from its confines to come to this place, where Regina was staring them down and the warm slosh of bathwater seemed like a distant memory.

"You're right, Bunny Tia," her oily voice was loud, attention grabbing, and Belle shifted uncomfortably in her seat as Regina looked around the room, her gaze stopping and baring into her. Could she know? How would she? Belle's stomach tied in knots, but she kept her composure and Regina moved her eyes. Maybe she was testing Belle out, trying to gauge her. "Only one Bunny can smoke on the floor at a time," she reminded them, "and no drinking – not even water! A patron can't tell water from vodka or juice from whiskey, and you don't need to look like drunks." She appeared to be giving a rather hard look to the mousey girl in the pink suit, who lowered her eyes in shame.

Regina seemed to know everything. It was enough to make Belle want to walk straight out of this meeting. But that would be even more suspicious than the incessant chewing on the inside of her cheek. And Regina continued, "But the real reason we are meeting today, is to cover the upcoming week. Ike and Tina Turner are playing at the club this week," a murmur of excited approval rippled through the crowd of bunnies, "and to let you girls know, Mr. Heffner himself will be coming into the club this week, to celebrate Bunny Sue. Wednesday night – two days from now – will be the most exclusive night at the club. High profile key holders only – by invitation. Everyone will be expected to work," she informed them in a tone so hard she couldn't have been joking, "No excuses."

Belle sucked in a deep breath. She didn't even need to wonder if Mr. Gold would be in attendance, and glancing back at Mary Margaret, she knew her friend's beau – young and strapping James Charlton – would be there too. The vibrating excitement was tangible in the group of bunnies.

Belle, admittedly, was a little excited too. An all-exclusive night with all of the bunnies on call? She'd have a limited section, she'd be able to linger and chat – the tips would be high. Even if it was all hands on deck, they'd still make a killing. Exclusive clientele liked to throw their money around. That fifty dollar bill weighed heavily in her purse, still.

It seemed like that was all Regina needed from them for the time being though, and Belle was glad for it. They were sent backstage and told to get ready for the evening, dismissed with a final, definitive wave of her elegant and gloved hand. She was the only one who wore gloves – probably thought she was too pristine to touch anything in there. Belle could have rolled her eyes, but she refrained, just pushing herself up and heading backstage.

It was at this point that Mary Margaret gave her an appropriate welcome – a big hug and apologized, fully, that she had not made the cover, turning her head to drag Ashley into the same hug, with the same words. "I really thought I had it," Ashley whined, scuffing her shoe against the floor. "At least me, or Belle," she said graciously, though Belle could see very little sincerity in it. She didn't mind, she knew Ashley wanted it.

Belle smiled, just a little bit, and shook her head. "I didn't want it," she admitted, earning the stares of the girls in front of her, and Ruby to clamor over, all silently asking the same exact question: Why? "It just… wasn't for me," she shrugged, not wanting to press the issue, really. "But I'm happy for Sue," she could see her and her group on the other side planning whatever it was they were planning, "and hope that if the contest ever comes around again, one of my beautiful friends will make the cover," she smiled brightly, and not even Ruby could come up with a response to that.

It was enough for Belle, for the moment, and she moved to the rack of costumes, finally resolved on getting ready now. Her gold suit was ready and waiting and Belle couldn't help but being pleased. A strange sensation hit her chest when she realized this was the suit Mr. Gold had pressed her up against the wall and kissed her in. A secret sort of pleasure filled her mind and she went about getting ready, humming along with the radio one of the girls must have turned on.

When the night finally started and all the girls were in their suits, done up like they always were, and the lights went out – restoring some of the mystery and charm to the place, whatever unique charm it did have. But Belle adjusted her collar and cuffs, slipped her feet into her gold heels and was ready to go out. Ruby slipped her arm into Belle's and giggled softly, "Ready to hit the floor, love?" she giggled.

Belle wrinkled her nose, "As ready as I ever am." Both girls laughed together and split apart as they walked out of the backstage doors. Each had their own job to do, Ruby lighting fires, and Belle delivering the liquid relief. Where Ruby bounced, Belle sauntered, and headed back to the bar. There weren't many patrons yet, and she leaned against it. "Haven't heard much from Ashley recently," she leaned on the bar, "How's it going Sean?"

He withdrew her tray from behind the bar and sighed. "I sent her flowers, and I didn't get them back, so I think it's a good sign," he smiled a lopsided sort of smile and rubbed the back of his neck. "She hasn't said anything, huh?"

Belle tilted her head, a sympathetic expression coloring her face. "It might be a good sign," she offered, "at least she's not complaining about you anymore," she smiled and his face dropped. Apparently Sean did not have the sense of humor to handle even the gentle prods of Belle French. "Don't look so upset, Sean. Just woo her – do something special, a grand gesture, maybe?" she smiled encouragingly and Sean shuffled his feet, shoulders dropping.

"I guess," he shrugged with an awkward smile, "If you get any ideas," he added, "I'll be here all night." He motioned to the whole bar wit his arms wide open, and Belle started to laugh, which put a smile back on his face. "Have a good night, Belle. See ya around."

Belle leaned up and over the bar, pressing a very light kiss to Sean's cheek. "If I get any ideas, I'll be the first to let you know," she smiled and turned with her tray, ready to head right into the fray – time to earn those tips. Every night she worked hard here was one she might not have to spend working her tail off (pun not intended) while she went back to college.

Walking away from the bar, Belle didn't think much of it, at least not until she glanced around the club and caught the eye of one very surly looking patron. Mr. Gold's shoulders were drawn up and his eyes might as well have been on fire. Belle's insides twisted, and she wondered if it was something at work that had upset him. He was sitting alone; maybe he'd be her first stop.

Making a b-line straight for his table, Belle smiled. "Mr. Gold, good to see you tonight," she smiled easily and stood on the other end of the table, one hip popped out.

He looked at her with the sharpest look she had ever seen, his fingers flexing over the head of his cane. Her cheeks started to burn, and Belle's smile wavered. "Belle," he wasn't happy. Belle thought showing up might rectify that – it only seemed to deepen the lines in his forehead and his frown. "Scotch, if you would."

"Of course," she tried to quirk a smile, but now that she was… involved so to speak, she had to take a peek around, looking for any sign of Regina – she didn't appear to be out yet, Belle leaned over the table, getting eye level with him. "What's the matter, Mr. Gold?" she asked concern evident in her voice.

She could practically hear his teeth grinding against one another and it made her stomach twist. It was a sound akin to nails on chalkboard and he was looking at her so fiercely, the two things combined might have just killed her. "What was that about?" his lip curled, and Belle blinked.

"What was what about?" she countered, leaning back from him, still bracing herself against the table.

Mr. Gold, in response to her pushing away, pushed himself up and leaned forward. They were hardly a hand's length away from one another – no Bible space between them like her Catholic middle school dances – and she was forced to look into his dark brown eyes, gold glittering in the dimly lit space. "At the bar, that little display. What was that about?"

That certainly took Belle by surprise. Her eyebrows drew in, and instead of feeling flattered that he seemed to be jealous over nothing, she was quite perturbed. "It was nothing," she shot back, "What do you mean 'display?' That's ridiculous."

He bristled. Mr. Gold was not happy, but he didn't have to be. Belle was her own woman. If he wanted to make a big deal of nothing, he could. "It didn't appear to be nothing," he lifted his hand under her chin, forcing her to look at him, and Belle's jaw tensed instinctively.

"Just a friend," Belle twitched her hips agitatedly, shifting weight from one foot to the other. He said she didn't need to be babied, and yet, here he was, watching her like a hawk, showing up when there wasn't even a crowd, and she was sure he'd stay all night. "And if you think it's okay to make accusations," she wrenched her chin away, and to his credit, Gold did not stop her, "I'll set your table up with Ruby or Winifred, whoever you'd prefer."

Her strong eyes met his and they stood at an impasse. Belle was not going to back down, and he looked as resolute as ever. But, she was in control here, this was her work environment, and she felt the need to add, "As it is, Regina is watching my every move – so if it was something, she'd know and have fired me already." His face softened slightly, and he sat back down.

It was an immediate rush – the power she just felt – cowing Mr. Gold back into his seat. She didn't have any power, and yet, she got Mr. Gold to sit down and not aid Regina in finding any reason whatsoever to fire her, at least more than she already had and Belle straightened up – glancing around again, satisfied that Regina wasn't in her line of sight. "That scotch, Belle?"

She nodded and walked around the back of the booth, trailing her hand over the top edge. "On it, Mr. Gold," she smiled as she leaned down behind him, dropping her voice to a whisper, "I told you yesterday, you don't have to baby me." She started to push herself away, but Mr. Gold put his hand over the cuff on her wrist.

She stilled, looking down at him with big, confused eyes. He looked up, a growl building in his chest. "Did I ever tell you, Belle, how much that color suits you?" his eyes were darker than they had been a couple of moments ago.

Belle's cheeks colored and she licked her lips – his eyes immediately jumping downward and his hand tightened around her wrist. Belle let out a shaky breath, and tried to smile. "You're too kind, Mr. Gold."

"Not kind enough by half," he retorted, pulling her hand away from the edge of the seat and toward his face. He turned her palm upward, Belle's fingers trembling anxiously as he placed a warm, dry kiss on the inside of her palm that made her insides twist most uncomfortably. His other hand pressed something into the palm of her hand, and Belle could have laughed. Of course, his method of delivering any bit of correspondence was going to be with inappropriate displays of affection without any base.

She wrapped her hand around the little piece of paper in her hand and smiled, "You don't give yourself enough credit," she giggled and Mr. Gold sat back down, sated. She slipped the paper onto the tray though; she'd look at it while she was waiting for Sean to pour the glasses, even if her burning curiosity meant she wanted to read it right there and then.

Ruby, however, was quick to come over and whisper harshly, "Is Mr. Gold bothering you? Should I tell Regina to kick him out?" For being only seventeen years old, Ruby had a host of bravery stored somewhere, and she was willing to go straight up to anyone and tell them the deal, even Regina, who Belle chose to avoid like the plague.

Of course, Belle couldn't truly be honest with Ruby – no matter how much she might have wanted to be honest with anyone. It wasn't possible though. She just shook her head, "You know how guests are," Belle shrugged her shoulders. "He was just telling me how he liked my suit."

Ruby rolled her eyes. "You don't have to be a hero," Ruby informed her, "Regina would kick him out for you. Or we can switch you out."

"No," Belle said a little too forcefully, enough that Ruby's eyebrows perked up and her face screwed. Breathing in deep through her nose, Belle sighed, "I mean, it's fine. Don't worry, Mr. Gold is all talk."

"Didn't look like it," Ruby muttered and regarded Belle with a skeptical, but caring looking. "Just, if you need anything, wave me over?" Belle nodded, wanting her friend to stop worrying, but also stop prodding. It wasn't something she wanted getting around, the more people knew, the more likely it was to get to Regina – or worse – the man, Todio, who had threatened her.

Ruby left her be, and Belle's shoulders dropped, glad to move on to the rest of the tables. As she walked between the tables, Belle's smile became wider, more relaxed, and she forgot just how comforting a place like the Playboy Club could be. No one wanted to really know her; she was perfectly anonymous under a gold suit. She took orders, talked without purpose, and eased around the place with confidence she hadn't felt for days.

Leaning against the bar as Sean filled up the glasses, one by one, Belle finally took the piece of paper and unfolded it. "Alley – 10 PM. Take your break. – R.G." And that was all. A meeting in the alley? Belle's brows furrowed, but she tucked the piece of paper in the side of her suit, not wanting to lose it, or have it found by anyone else. If this was a similar meeting to last time, Belle's cheeks burned. She was on probation. She knew she hadn't necessarily said that in so many words to Mr. Gold, but she had hinted… hadn't she? Hopefully no one would remember that she didn't actually smoke. Everyone did these days though, and it'd go without notice. It certainly had the other night.

Pleased with herself, Belle crossed the floor, delivering drinks from table to table, smiling and chatting, wrinkling her nose at Mr. Gold as he actually thanked her for the drink, something he seldom did, and informed her that she might want to bring five glasses for the associates joining him this evening. She took note and agreed that she would, making a loop through the front of the band that was playing some kind of swinging jazz that seemed a little older than what was typically played, but it was still early, and Belle didn't mind.

She hummed along casually, recognizing it from her father's collection, but was stopped by a strong hand on her arm. Belle blinked, and turned her head, looking straight into the face of Mr. Barker – Todio – whatever he was going by. He had thick, black hair that was slicked back by grease, and his whole suit was dark. His crimson tie looked menacing, whereas Mr. Gold's tended to only look sophisticated. "If it isn't our very own bunny with big ears," he reached up and tugged on her curled, golden ear headband.

Belle took a deep breath, quirking a small smile. "Hello Mr. Barker," she tried to sound neutral, though she wondered on what side he was holding whatever silver glinting object he had flashed at her in the car, and if he had any designs on doing the same tonight.

"Care for a dance, Bunny Belle?" he moved the tray out of her hand, and clearly wasn't asking. It was very public, the club wasn't nearly full yet, and there was virtually no one dancing, but Belle felt pigeon holed. She nodded, wordlessly, though attempted to smile. It seemed to placate him and the tray was abandoned as Belle was pulled onto the floor.

His hands were large, and he pressed her close. Belle sucked in a breath as his hand spread across her black, seemingly covering all of her, as the other clutched onto her hand. There was nothing soft or intimate about this, and Belle gulped. "You know," he smacked his lips, and Belle tried not to wince. His breath smelled, not like whiskey or honey, but acerbic, and it felt like it burned her nose hairs, "Did you make the cover of the magazine, Ears?"

The nickname was not affectionate, he was bristling, and Belle hated the tension almost as much as she hated the closeness. The way his hands grasped at her, possessive and threatening. He was unrelenting. "No, Sir," she ducked her head, trying to breathe air that was fresh, untainted, but even lower, his heavy cologne assaulted her.

"Such a shame," he muttered, gripping her tighter, his nails digging into her wrist. Belle wondered what she had done tonight to deserve such inappropriate contact. "Couldn't be because you weren't pretty enough," he smirked, releasing her wrist and tilting her chin up, "You just… find your way under everyone's skin, don't you?" he laughed low and gravelly. Belle didn't find his gravelly laugh attractive though, it was scary.

She lowered her head and tried to duck away. Instead of letting her go, Todio grabbed her chin forcefully. "You haven't forgotten what I told you, did you, Ears?" he looked straight into her eyes – all black and dark, full of promises of unsaid violence. Belle shook her head, vehemently, just to prove she wasn't one to forget, and she wasn't going to say anything. "Good," he leaned closer, and Belle stiffened. "I'd hate to have the club lose such a gem."

When he moved to press his lips against hers, Belle turned her head, catching his wet, cold lips on her cheek with a lurch in her stomach. "I'm sorry, Sir," she tried to excuse herself, "I have drinks to deliver. Thank you – for the dance," she willed herself to avoid tears, and Todio stepped back, eyes dark and expression something akin to a glower. She hated that look.

His eyes trained on her as she scurried away, trying not to trip in her shoes. She was shaken, her knees were clacking, and she grabbed her tray, and exited the floor. It was barely nine and she was already having another rough night. She hoped the money would be good, or she really need to just find another job. Glancing over her shoulder, she tried to search for Mr. Gold, but he was out of his seat.

Belle wondered where he could have gone – probably the men's room, she reasoned. It would be her luck that the only person who might have actually helped her wasn't watching. Though, she supposed it was mitigated by the fact Regina didn't swoop down on her and kick her out. Sighing, Belle caught a break twice – she wasn't sure if she would get lucky a third time.

Belle just had to do her best to keep it together, despite Mary Margaret's concerned look, and Ashley's grousing as she passed. Apparently she was back to talking about Sean. Well, something had happened. There was no use in asking at the moment, Belle had drinks to deliver and she wanted to avoid being alone – or anywhere she could be cornered again.

It wasn't hard, as the club began to fill up. She did her best to avoid the table, though as she caught Mr. Gold's eye, she couldn't help but feel badly that all she did was a cursory glance at the table to refill their glasses when they needed it. She didn't have to talk to them, she knew, but Mr. Gold hadn't done anything wrong, but the man next to him – it made Belle's stomach turn that they were that close to one another. She wondered what on Earth they could be talking about, and of course, thought better of her curiosity. 'Ears' was not a flattering nickname and she wasn't keen on keeping it.

Sucking in a deep breath, Belle just wanted to go back to the penthouse. She just had to make it until ten. Then she'd go outside, get a breath of fresh air, and maybe Mr. Gold would have something to tell her. Maybe he had planned for all of this – though she couldn't imagine him wanting Todio to grab her – he flared at her kissing Sean's cheek. Belle didn't understand it, but she couldn't help but feel maybe he was jealous. She didn't know why.

Everything was so confusing. Glancing at the clock behind the bar, Belle was just glad it was 9:58. Dropping off the tray, she informed Sean she would be back in fifteen minutes, and walked backstage, informing Winifred to keep an eye on her section while she took her break. This time, she slipped off her heels and put on her own shoes as she tugged on her coat. "Where are you going?" Tia asked, her feet dipped into the ice bath the girls commonly used.

Belle gasped and color rose to her cheeks. "Smoke break," she practically squeaked, and Tia looked right at her – eyebrows drawn in and mouth in a hard, straight line. She didn't seem to believe her, but she kept quiet and Belle smiled, "I'll be back in fifteen, I promise," she added and disappeared through the doors to the back stairwell.

Withdrawing the paper from the side of her suit as she hit the first landing, she looked at it again, just to make sure, and kept her feet quickly moving down the steps. Her heart thrummed in her chest, and she poked her head out at of the door at the bottom of the stairs – an instant smile on her face when she saw Mr. Gold standing there. Belle slipped out of the door with an exasperated sigh, whispering. "If I get caught, I'm as good as fired," she pointed out.

He nodded, though she doubted he actually understood. "We'll make this quick then," his voice was low and he moved closer to her. Belle raised her eyebrows, and retained her smile. She didn't feel like he was Todio, Mr. Gold didn't want to hurt her. If he did, he would have last night. "What did Barker have to say to you?" he asked – Belle's insides tightened, so he did see.

Belle licked her lips, "He asked me if I remembered what he told me, and he started calling me Ears." Mr. Gold searched her face; he knew she wasn't telling the whole truth. "He asked me why I didn't get the cover," her eyes and voice dropped at the same time, "Said I was getting under everyone's skin." She bit the inside of her cheek, daring to look up and was surprised at the anger, blazing in Mr. Gold's eyes. "He tried to kiss me."

She was certain she could hear Mr. Gold's teeth grinding now. It was an unpleasant sound, and his muscles tightened considerably. "Are you alright? He didn't hurt you?" he was seething, and though Belle was not afraid of him, she didn't like the menacing tone in his voice.

"No, no," she immediately supplied, hoping it would soften the hardened lines on his face, release the tension in his jaw, but he seemed intent on it. "I turned my head," she added, "He only got my cheek." Tentatively, Belle reached out and touched the lapel of his suit, surely keeping him much warmer than she was, "I'm okay."

He huffed, putting his hand over hers in the most intimate gesture between them. His thumb ran over the back of her hand and Belle sighed. "Good." His hand travelled upward and his fingers ghosted over her neck, tingling until he reached her cheek.

Belle couldn't help but lean her cheek into his hand, and then looked at his face, "You know," a small smirk formed on her lips, "Mr. Gold, you hardly need to sneak me into an alley if you want some kind of clandestine affair." She laughed, despite herself, and Mr. Gold's eyes widened apparently he did not expect such a comment, and swallowed hard. He started to withdraw his hand, but Belle quickly stopped him. "What'd you want to tell me?"

Whether it was her stilling his hand, or looking up at him through her thick, made-up eyelashes, Mr. Gold stopped trying to resist and left his hand on the side of her face. Strangely, she didn't feel uncomfortable, though she was sure if this had happened the previous evening, she wouldn't have. "Just that Todio is watching. He's very… keen… on your activities."

She exhaled through her nose and sank against the wall, lifting one of her hands up to the side of her face. "What can I do? How can I prove I don't know anything?" she searched his face, trying to discern something that would help her in navigating this.

Unfortunately, his face was, for the most part, unrelenting. "Just keep your head low dear, and as much as I loathe saying it, being polite, don't upset them." They sighed in tandem, and Belle wrinkled her nose, at least earning half of a smile from her very strange companion. Why was he so affectionate in an alleyway but gave no inclination toward it in his home? Belle couldn't wrap her head around it.

"I'd have liked to spit in his face," she said candidly, laughing lightly at her own admission.

Mr. Gold took a moment to consider, and then shook his head. "As lovely a picture as that might be, I'm afraid your saliva might be a bit too good a fate for him," he pointed out, and Belle laughed, brightly this time, so much so that she thought she saw a smile on his face. It disappeared before she could look again to make sure it was there. "How long have we been out here?" His brow wrinkled for a moment before he dug in his pocket, pulling out a pocket watch. She didn't even know people used pocket watches anymore, at least no one younger than her father… This was cause to pause, as she wondered how old Mr. Gold was… he didn't look that old, older than her most assuredly, but not as old as her father looked… She barely registered when he informed her it was 10:08. "I still have seven minutes on break."

Mr. Gold's eyebrows jumped up, and Belle couldn't help but let a slow, careful smile spread across her face. She reached forward, wrapping her hand around his purple tie and tugged him just slightly toward her, sending Mr. Gold tottering a bit unevenly, which seemed to never happen. "Miss French?" his voice was husky and Belle's smile widened.

She had him by the tie, staring at her, and he was looking at her, asking her what she was doing, essentially, and Belle couldn't really answer. Her heart was up in her throat and she leaned forward, brushing past his cheek and up to his ear, "Thank you, Mr. Gold," she smiled as the light stubble on his chin rubbed against the side of her face, "I've got to back in… but, I'll see you at the end of the night."

With that, Belle pulled back, smiling like a Cheshire cat, and Mr. Gold had a look Belle had never seen on his face: a mix of confusion, amusement, and something she couldn't place. Whatever it was, she didn't mind seeing it, and put his tie back, smoothing it down with feather light touches before biting her lip and slipping away toward the staff door.

Belle didn't know what she was doing.


	9. IX

**A/N: **I think this is the chapter everyone has been waiting for! So, without further ado or too many notes, please enjoy!

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Belle didn't know what she was doing. She was flying up the stairs, having been seconds away from doing something she wasn't even sure Mr. Gold wanted her to do… and breaking rule after rule after rule again. Belle had never been one to circumvent the ties that bound her, she liked to operate within the framework, so that she might preserve her own position, even if it meant she'd have to work a little longer or try a little harder, she hated the idea of breaking the rules.

Now, she was doing everything wrong – defying the owner of the entire Playboy enterprise, defying Regina, and staying in a man's apartment – a man who was not her boyfriend, fiancé, husband, or relative. Not only was she breaking Bunny rules, but she was pretty sure her father would have a heart attack if he knew – he never even let her stay a night at George's – let alone take suitcases and move into her own room.

He might have actually approved of that part – but everything else: no chaperone, all alone with an older, richer man – everything added up to a very bad conclusion. The only thing was, Mr. Gold didn't even really get within arm's length of her unless they were here.

Pushing her way into the back room, Belle rubbed her temple, wondering what on Earth that could mean – and why it was so different, before she became aware of Tia closing in on her. "You don't smell like smoke," she said pointedly, searching Belle's face with her intelligent, accusatory dark eyes.

Belle's cheeks started to burn. Tia was scrutinizing her, "I forgot my smokes," she lied, lamely and Tia stared at her, unconvinced – thoroughly. It was the most exposed she'd ever felt, even as she slipped off her jacket to distract herself, Tia was still looking, silently waiting for the truth. "Don't look at me like that, Tia," Belle pled.

It didn't appear her plea meant anything, however, and Tia put her hands on her hips, off setting the mint green with her beautifully toned skin. "I wouldn't have to if you told the truth," she pointed out, "Now what is going on?"

"Nothing!" Belle lied, though forcefully. "I just wanted to take a break outside. It's cooler out there than back here," true, but not the real reason. Tia frowned, deeper than before and shook her head. "Trust me?" Belle lowered her voice, practically begging to just drop the subject.

It seemed, at least, that was enough to make Tia step off. "If you're in trouble, honey," she leaned closely, not wanting to attract anymore attention than had already been pulled toward them, "You just need to ask for help."

Belle shook her head. "I'm fine, Tia," she squeezed her-coworkers shoulder with a smile of good faith, "I know," she wrinkled her nose. Little did Tia know, Belle was looking to someone else for help, but she wasn't going to tell her that. It was much easier to just pretend everything was peachy keen. Not that she suspected her co-worker believed it, but it was enough.

They exited the backstage area uneasily, but Belle couldn't dwell on it – and really, neither could Tia. They both had something to prove – Belle being on probation (that Regina didn't seem to be watching h anyway… but she could never really discount her presence and eyes), and Tia wasn't the typical bunny. Yes, she was as young and beautiful as the rest of them, but being African-American, it was something that some people had to get over. While Tia's performance was constant, Belle was new to the idea of being watched all the time, and currently, she was failing miserably.

At least, as far as she was aware, it was only a personal failure – only Tia had noticed she wasn't being entirely truthful, and even then, she couldn't prove anything. For a moment, Belle was glad she hadn't kissed Mr. Gold senseless, she'd smell like his cologne and her lipstick would have been terribly mussed… Her imagination, however, was running away with her, and Belle had to reel herself back in. She had at least three more hours of work and there was nothing she could do about it.

So, she resolved to be all smiles and cheer, despite the way some of the men looked and their grabby hands reaching out to take whatever handful they could get. It was mitigated by the fact Belle truly felt in control of what could happen. Maybe she couldn't stop Todio from shooting her down at some point, but she found it very easy to dictate what happened in her immediate circle of influence.

Once you've tugged one of the most powerful men in Chicago by the tie… everything else seemed like it might just be a little easier than she anticipated. It was his own damn fault, really, being charming and kind one second and then a complete ass another, and then the soft-gentle alleyway nonsense. He was an enigma, and Belle really hated things she couldn't understand.

So, she upped the ante. She smiled wider whenever she looked at him, sought eye contact at every turn she made, and when she was at the table, made sure to compliment him. Todio looked quite displeased when Belle leaned over the table and Belle smiled so sweetly at him, "That tie really suits you, Mr. Gold," she practically purred and grabbed his glass from in front of him. Their eyes met and a smile flashed across his face: not exactly threatening, but mysterious, for sure.

Belle felt vindicated as she slowly withdrew from the table and sashayed away with another round of scotch for the table. She was keeping count tonight, and Mr. Gold was somewhere near four drinks? It seemed like a lot, but Belle didn't really have much of a gauge. She didn't drink, at least no more than one glass of champagne on New Year's or at a wedding, and that was enough to get her giggling. Four scotches… with a fifth on the way?

She supposed it was late in the evening, and almost time to go – Belle couldn't do much about it, except delay a bit by visiting her other tables, picking up tabs and even stopping to chat a bit with Ruby, who was out of sorts. The tall, dark haired young walked with her, complaining about how the redheaded account manager wasn't paying nearly enough attention to her, and she'd tried just about everything, which Belle could only pat her arm in sympathy, understanding all too well the complexities of getting the attention of those you were absolutely not supposed to.

But, Ruby was a natural rule breaker. She liked boundary pushing, as evidenced by her employment here. Belle just hoped that she wasn't going to be playing with fire. She'd much rather Ruby find her way without worrying about men, considering she was so young, but it was her life – and she had to make choices. Wasn't that what the new social push was all about? Belle heard words like liberation, feminism, and choice thrown around to describe all manners of choices.

Belle didn't know how she was going to navigate these things – choices seemed to be for those that had the means to make them, and Belle certainly wasn't one of them, but at the same time, she was allowed to work in a place like this. She had that option, and she could only thank whoever had the time to work for that opportunity that she and her father weren't starving as a result, even if she had to rely on her looks to do it. That was, arguably, the best thing to come of whatever was bubbling beyond Belle's sphere of influence.

She just had influence here, and now, and over her own life, which she was happy for. Doing what she had to do was her way of life, and as she slipped through the club, another smiling face amongst the crowd, she let her hips sway and curls bounce, pretending this was the best thing that could possibly happen to her. She was just glad that the night was winding down, the worst thing that happened post alleyway meeting were comments from Mr. Todio while she was at the table, ones met with steely glances by Mr. Gold, which made Belle stand up a little prouder, and smile just a little wider.

As the patrons were escorted out, the tabs collected, and tips stuffed in unseemly places until they could be deposited in their envelopes and purses, Belle grabbed her tips and greedily counted them all, practically squealing as she rounded past one hundred, and steadily climbed up with each passing bill. Her heart soared – One hundred and ninety five dollars – just five dollars short of two hundred! Her breath hitched in her throat, she was making so much progress. Even from the tables she had no stake in, the tips were higher, the time easier.

Pulling her purse out of her locker, Belle immediately shoved the money inside and put it right back into the locker. Swallowing hard, she wished she didn't have to leave the suit at work. She thought it might be worth it – to sneak it out of the club, but that was one of the rules. No suits left the club, or it was fifty dollars off her paycheck, and Yaga – the Eastern European seamstress who pressed, cleaned, and mended all of the suits would have her head if something happened to it. She'd be the first to rat her out, crone that she was, so Belle slipped out of the suit, albeit reluctantly, and back into her dress from the day.

The other girls were taking their time, chatting, but Belle was actually very ready to go. In fact, she was the first to grab her coat and start for the back door. "What's the rush, Belle?" Ashley chimed, combing out her thick, blonde hair.

Belle turned, anxiously shifting her weight from one foot to the other, "Dad has been waiting up," she lied – so many lies, all of the time, "I figured I'd get out a bit earlier tonight."

Ruby sighed, rolling her eyes. "You should come with us."

"Where?" Belle asked, delaying, but only because her curiosity was getting the better of her.

A devious sort of smirk spread over Ruby's lips, the mischief in her eyes easy to pick up on. "The mansion," she breathed, "Heff is having a party tonight," her tone dropped to monotone, "For Sue." But she was able to straighten up, roll her shoulders with a bit of a shimmy, "But we're going to go. Come with us!"

Belle bit the inside of her cheek. The expectant looks on her friends faces made it difficult to say no… then again… the idea of going to a warm bed and her pajamas and come up with some kind of plan for Mr. Gold made it quite easy. Her shoulders dropped, "Maybe another time, girls," she smiled uneasily, "My dad is waiting." Not the image she wanted. Both sighed and rolled their eyes at her. "Sorry!" she offered, trying to offer a reassuring smile.

"I'm going to hold you to it," Ruby said pointedly as she adjusted the low, sweet-heart neckline of her halter top. It would have been a little less scandalous if she didn't pair it with skin tight cigarette pants and red heels. Belle shook her head, the girl was something else. "Can't let us have all the fun, after all!"

"You won't be," the words tumbled out before she could stop herself and she felt herself starting to flush. Ashley and Ruby looked at her sharply, scrutinizing, and narrowed their eyes. Belle's heart thumped in her chest, trying to will the blush on her cheeks to go away entirely as they stared at her. It wasn't happening, so Belle was beating a hasty retreat, "I've got to go! Be safe! And Have fun!" the last statement was somewhat of an afterthought, and she dashed away, before they could even grab her, and through the staff only doors.

Belle stopped on the first landing to calm herself, wondering what on Earth she was thinking, and why she would have said anything at all, let alone _that_! That was most assuredly not what she intended, but she knew how they thought – she knew it was going to sound like that. Rubbing her face, Belle calmed herself, and then descended further, glad to see the alleyway was empty – a shiver travelling down her spine – before she exited the alleyway.

Looking up and down the street, her smile brightened as she saw Mr. Gold and Hongrois standing outside of the Cadillac. It appeared they were in some kind of discussion. Belle approached, hoping to catch the tail end of it, but they seemed to notice her before she got a chance to. "Hello Hongrois," she smiled brightly as she approached, choosing to stop by Mr. Gold's side, "Hello again, Mr. Gold."

"Miss French," Hongrois greeted coolly, the ghost of a smile flickering on his face. Belle wondered what that was about, but he opened the door and she sat in quickly, sliding across the street to allow Mr. Gold to climb in next to her. The black partition that separated the front seat from the back was up – strange, and Belle looked confusedly at Mr. Gold as he climbed in. The best he could do was shrug in return.

When Hongrois closed the door, Belle watched him make his way behind the car and then to the driver's door. She only heard the door shut and the engine start. It was so strange to not see him drive. "There's a party at the Mansion tonight," Belle suddenly felt shy, in her day clothes, feeling very much like Belle French – not Bunny Belle – and an awkward shyness settling between them. Maybe she should have risked Yaga's anger to take it with her, if it would provide her whatever she lost between the front doors of the club and the car.

Mr. Gold's fingers tightened around his cane and he cleared his throat, "I see," his voice was terse and low, eyes trained forward.

Belle reached up and twirled one of her curls around her finger, biting her lip. Well, that didn't go over very well. "Ashley and Ruby wanted me to go," she added, "but I told them no."

He shifted only slightly to look at her. "Did you wish to go?" he raised his hand, like he was going to knock on the partition and instruct Hongrois, but Belle shook her head, and his hand stilled.

"No, no," the second was stronger, more sincere, and she lifted her downcast eyes to smile at him, "I made an excuse so I wouldn't have to. I don't think I would like something like that," she offered, hoping it would ease any of the guilt that was written all over his face.

It seemed to work and his hand dropped back into his lap unceremoniously. "What would you like then, if not champagne, music, and dancing?" he asked, an almost speculative, and a bit… could she say dreamy? Maybe there was a hint of that, but it could also easily be some kind of sadness. Belle had trouble enough with him, let alone deciphering his every mood and whim.

Belle slumped in her seat for a moment in thought at his provoking words. Champagne and music and dancing would have been well and good, if she were inclined for that sort of thing. And why wasn't she? What was the problem with any of it? Oh right. "Drinking doesn't interest me, and though I love music, I'm a wretched dancer," she let a bubble of laughter rise from her chest. "I'd much rather spend time relaxing," he nodded in understanding, "with you."

The words hung in the air between them. Everything in the backseat seemed to still, she no longer fumbled with her skirt from anxiety, he didn't even twitch his fingers over his cane's handle, which he was wont to do in circumstances that seemed unpleasant. The ride wouldn't last much longer, Belle realized, and though her breathing was shallow and her heart was thumping loudly in her chest, she had no other option.

Belle scooted close and quick, she didn't want him to be able to think about it and she placed the smallest, most chaste kiss on his cheek. The act itself was not significant, but the fact that Belle did it, that color rose to her cheeks and her eyes searched anywhere but his face as she withdrew from his slightly stubbly cheek, laughing nervously, but happily, waiting to hear something- anything.

The only sound that greeted her ears was the halting of the tires and the muting of the engine. Belle's heart sank. Mr. Gold did not make any move whatsoever, and before Belle knew it, Hongrois was opening the door for her. She was glad that she could dash out of the car as soon as she did and compose herself. Belle wouldn't let herself be upset by it. It wasn't right to get all worked up over someone who stole kisses for practical matters.

She wished, just a little, that he might be less practical, that out of all of this: not seeing her father, being within inches of losing her job, and lying to everyone about everything that something good might come of it. Her voice was quiet and eyes watery as she thanked Hongrois before moving further on the pavement, Hongrois' eyes following her as he shut her door and moved around the other side, say something quite forcefully, though quietly, as Mr. Gold maneuvered out of the car.

When he took her side, Belle continued her steadfast gaze at the ground, watching his cane and feet move to direct her own actions. She felt foolish, and the way he just stayed stock still. Belle just walked by his side, cursing herself as they stepped onto the elevator and another awkward silence was no accompanied by the low humming of the apparatus pulling the elevator upward. The ride, she knew, was quick but felt endless, lingering, and all Mr. Gold did was stand there, looking straight forward – not that her eyes wandered toward him or his pinstripe suit at all, obviously.

They stepped off and he unlocked the door, Belle breaking the silence as she passed by murmuring a very faint, "I'm sorry," before she started to dash toward her bedroom, shrugging off her coat and tossing it on the couch as she did. It would be best, she reasoned, to rush straight to bed.

"Belle," his voice wavered, but he surely called after her, and she tried to stop dead in her tracks, heels skittering to a halt over the wood floors. She didn't turn to look at him, but waited, at the mouth of the hallway, hearing his cane tapping while he walked forward with tentative, soft steps. "Sorry?"

Belle turned slowly, eyes still cast downward, afraid that looking at him might crack her resolve at this moment to be totally honest. "I just…" she took a deep breath, smoothing her hands over her skirt; she needed a moment to gather her words. Once she was sufficiently able, she looked up, meeting his brown eyes and gulped: be strong. "At the club, you… it's not fair, Mr. Gold, for you to act like that there – kissing my hand, and me, and smiling, and here… well, you treat me like a child, like you haven't seen every inch of my legs or arms or kissed me at all."

Mr. Gold looked almost stricken, like she had done him some great disservice by pointing out how he carried on as two completely different people, and Belle sought to explain herself further. "I completely understand, of course, needing an excuse to put something in my pocket, or hand me things… and…" she shook her head, smiling without being happy at all, "I understand if I misunderstood and took whatever I was feeling a step too far… but.. the least you could do is say something – let me know, so I don't continue to make a fool of myself." Belle's shoulders dropped and she was breathing hard, but she realized it felt so good to at least say it, and mean it – to be truthful about one thing.

If it made living with him awkward, so be it, because Belle at least felt one weight ascending from her shoulders and it allowed her to stand taller and feel a little less guilty. "Is that what you think?" he finally replied, his accent thicker than before, enough that Belle had to lean forward to make it out, "You think I'm the confusing one?"

That reaction was not what Belle anticipated. "What? Yes, I do, as a matter of fact," somehow she'd found her voice, and it was ripe with anger at the suggestion that he was not the one who was running around flirting and initiating things he wouldn't go through with.

"Dearie," he walked forward now, with a renewed strength and confidence, "I'm not the one who walks about, tugging on ties and flirting all evening. I'm most assuredly not the one strutting about with a costume that barely covers him up, am I? And I certainly didn't get some tarty pictures taken on a lark either and then talk about them incessantly." His voice was not loud, but it was punctuated. He was standing a mere couple of feet from her, and she could see his hands trembling, an odd show of a lack of composure for him.

Belle, on the other hand, was not one to hold her emotions in very well, and her coloring only heightened as she hastily dug into her purse and pulled out the pictures she had never removed. "Tarty?" she seethed as she stalked forward and shoved the pictures into his shaking free hand. "Have a look then, since you're so fond of the costume and the smiling – if that's the Belle you're so happy to be around, have her all the time. I don't feel like carrying her around anymore."

She crossed her hands over her chest and Mr. Gold looked down at the stack of polaroids in his hand and stood there, looking dumbfounded. Belle hated that – she wanted him to act immediately, do something, but he stood there, looking at them, like his mind had to work out everything before it even allowed him a fraction of a movement. When his head snapped up, away from staring at his hand, Gold threw the pictures down on the floor and walked forward. Belle held her ground, eyes narrowed as he continued his approach, "I guess that doesn't please you either?" she asked, disappointment and anger equally present in her tone.

He shook his head, laughing as he looked at her stern face. Mr. Gold turned from her and headed for that damned cabinet, the whiskey bottles neatly stacked and rowed with glasses at the wait, and she swore, if she were able, she would have started breathing fire at that moment. "No! You don't get to distract yourself," on impulse, she followed him, trying to move in front of the cabinet, "What is wrong?"

"About this?" he motioned between them, "Just about everything, dearie," Gold tried to move to the left, to get around her, but Belle angled her body to block him again, to deny him the drink that would allow him excuses.

She was done with excuses and cryptic answers. "Whatever this is," she mimicked the flourishing motion between them, "it's nothing if the only Belle you can respond to is as fake as the make-up on my face or the compliments I give to anyone else. Anyone, but you, "she added, sincerity tinged with true sincerity.

Most likely, at the realization that he would be getting no Scotch, Gold moved from the cabinet, taking a few, staggered steps backward. "You're very young," he eased, "You are in a fragile place, dearie."

"Stop!" she closed her eyes, fists balled at her sides before flexing her fingers all the way out. "Please, don't tell me that." When her eyes opened, she looked at him, exasperated. "I'm twenty-five years old; I've been working since I was fifteen, taking care of my dad after my mother died. I am not that young, so you can't use that as an excuse, Gold."

R. Gold certainly didn't have an immediate answer for that, and his jaw mulled like he was chewing on something hard to swallow – Belle got a thrill of satisfaction that her words were what he was chewing on – if she was actually happy, she might have smirked. "Then, let me revise," he started, "I am old, and I work for the very people who consistently threaten your pretty little neck, dear."

"Not so old," she countered, and moved around him, regarding him critically. "And if that was the case, if you were truly dangerous, you wouldn't be keeping me here in your penthouse, like some precious little tea cup – display but not function. You even tell me I don't have to cook or clean; if I can't do anything, what good am I?" Belle realized this argument was about much more than what it started out as - she was frustrated, stifled… she wanted to be someone more than a decoration. She didn't want to be a thing.

It appeared Gold was at least understanding on that point and he moved away from the cabinet. His steps were slow, and he let out a slow, low sound – that might have been a laugh if it wasn't so heartbreaking. "You don't see it, do you?" he reached up, touching the side of her face. Belle tried to resist leaning into it, but she felt powerless. "You will be so much more than ears or corsets or an old man in a penthouse, Belle." The look on his face was so… sad. Belle's knees bent as that familiar weight dropped right back onto her shoulders. She felt like she might cry, and couldn't say anything in return – didn't know what to say. "You were the one who said temporary position, weren't you?"

"Isn't everything temporary?" her lips quirked into a shy sort of smile, and Belle leaned into the pads of his fingers. He trailed his fingers down her jaw and tipped her chin upward.

Belle took a tentative step forward, and Mr. Gold's hand that had previously been wrapped around his cane, tossed it aside on the floor next to the couch, and found its way to her shoulder, "Unfortunately."

Her hands shook as she reached upward, gingerly stroking the mousy brown hair that hung by the side of his face. It as soft as she remembered, and she took a deep breath, slowly threading the strands in between her fingers, seeing everything in slow motion until the sudden jerk forward and she was pressed against him, her fingers closing around the strands of hair to keep herself steady, tugging at the same time – and he made a sound she couldn't have even dream up while her other hand snaked around his shoulder.

Before she could blink, they met somewhere in the middle and Belle was shaking as their lips slanted over one another's. It was a slow, desperate sort of thing, warm and wet and comforting, but outside of twisting her stomach, an ache formed in her chest with every movement, the way he tilted her head back and brushed her hair from her cheek, clutched her neck like she might disappear. Belle grabbed his collar, anchoring herself, but Mr. Gold was talking steps backward and she was helpless to follow as she chased his lips with every step.

The tastes of smoke and whiskey filled her mouth and they tumbled backward, a mess of tangled limbs and knocking joints onto the modern, white couch. Their lips parted as Belle landed on top of him with an inglorious grunt from him and a slight yelp from her. "Are you alright?" he asked in a husky, heavy voice, using both hands to push her hair back from over her shoulder and away from her face with both of his hands.

"I'm better than alright," searching his face, she found it okay to smile, and even laugh a little as she dragged her hand through the hair at his temples, as the other trailing down to his neck and over the part of tie that she was not lying on top of. "You?" a breathy laugh escaped her, and her only answer was a tug on the back of her head, bringing her down again.

Resistance was not Belle's strength at this point, and she willingly acquiesced to the pull – even if she tried, she doubted she would have been able to anyway, with the way he bit on her bottom lip and then soothed the sting with a swipe of his tongue. She moaned as he let go of her hair and his hand swept down her back at the same time he teased her mouth open, another permission Belle was only happy to grant.

Belle didn't know if she necessarily set out for this reaction, she certainly didn't ask for the confrontation – for the bearing of whatever insecurities she didn't even realize she had – and then to have each one washed away with every brush of his lips, every swipe of his tongue and Belle felt a coil of pleasure as he moaned her name against her mouth. As much as she might have liked to wipe the word off of him, Belle pushed herself up, separating their torsos. A bleary eyed Mr. Gold blinked, his hand tightening around her lower back, "What? What's wrong?"

"I don't know your first name," she said in between shaky, shallow breaths. Being thoroughly kissed really did that to a girl. "I can't just call you Mr. Gold," her laugh was husky and he pushed himself into a sitting position under her, leaning against the arm of the couch.

Belle scooted forward into his lap, one knee digging into the back cushions and her other leg hanging off the couch, her dress bunched up and stockings out, if she didn't feel like he was staring directly into her, ready to eat her alive, she might have felt ridiculous. Mr. Gold leaned forward and pressed a close-mouthed kiss to her lips, "Robert, m'names Robert," his voice was gruff and he nuzzled past her now wild curls, "I hate it," he placed a trail of kisses upward toward her jaw, Belle shifting with a giggle in his lap, "just Gold."

Belle hummed with pleasure as a well placed bite was pressed to the side of her neck and she giggled, squirming away from his teasing lips. His eyes were wide, and Belle smiled brilliantly at him, "It doesn't suit you," she agreed, "Gold it is," she leaned back in and pressed another closed mouth kiss to his lips as her hands slipped under his jacket, helping him shrug out of it and discard it over the arm of the chair. Left only in his crisp white shirt and tie, Belle wrapped her hand around it and Mr. Gold's hands tugged on her hips and Belle tipped forward, chest and hips flush against his own and he smiled against her lips before claiming another kiss, less chaste than the closed mouth exchanges, teeth clacking with searching tongues, and series of shivers washed down Belle's back and through the pit of her stomach.

His hands moved from her hips and wrapped around her waist, one splayed over her back and Belle's own left arm hooked around his back, while her right stayed firmly on his chest, fingers spread, feeling his sinewy frame under his shirt. As Gold searched the inside of her mouth, Belle whimpered with satisfaction, digging her nails into him through the fabric of his shirt. He again moved from her lips, leaving her shockingly short of breath, and dragged kisses over her jaw and back to the place on her neck that seemed to connect straight to her knees and pulled them together, tighter around him.

In the absence of an occupation for her own mouth, Belle let her head droop to the side, her hand on his back finding its way into his hair, tightening around the roots and she sighed, breath getting caught in her throat as a squeak when he bit down just a little harder than she anticipated. He pulled away at the sound and Belle, with heavy lids, dragged her hand down through the rest of his hair and blinked, "Did I hurt you?" he asked, voice still husky and low, as he loosed his grip on her.

Belle shook her head in response, licking her lips as she searched for an answer. Her whole mouth was dry though, and the relief she sough from the action was not granted. Bravery, Belle demanded of herself, and she pushed herself off of him, and the couch, standing to the side with a lowered chin, only gingerly biting her bruised lip. "Belle?" he looked at her with questions clearly visible in his eyes, waiting for her to say something – to do something.

She leaned down, grabbing his cane and held out the handle end to him, her nose wrinkling with a playful laugh, "Mr. Gold?" At this, Mr. Gold grabbed the end and pushed himself up at the same time, taking the liberty of tugging the cane toward him, and with it, Belle, who laughed and threw her arms about him once again.

Pulled into another intense, probing kiss, Belle leaned against him her whole body sensitive to every movement of his hands, of the heat of him in front of her, and the way he stared straight into her with those dark eyes. And they both smiled as Gold dipped his fingers over the hollow of her throat and along the skin of her collarbone, flushed pink with excitement. "You are trouble, aren't you, Belle?"


	10. X

**A/N: **Hey hey everyone! Thanks for the follows, reviews, favorites, and everything! I really appreciate it - feedback is always fantastic for any writer, I know you guys know that, so thank you so much! I figured out how HDN is going to end so now it's just getting it all written down! Thanks again, and I hope you enjoy!

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Belle woke up earlier than she anticipated the next morning. There was a lazy, contented smile on her lips as she slipped from the warm bed and grabbed the nearest article of clothing on the floor: the white button down Gold had been wearing the previous night. She tugged it on, laughing quietly to herself.

Though Mr. Gold was a slight man with a lean but strong build, he was still bigger than she, and the sleeves were far too long. She looked over at the bed as she rolled the sleeves so her slender hands might show from the ends. The shirt was long enough that it draped over her thighs and buttoning the middle buttons, she stood on the side of the bed, looking at Gold, laying there in the bed.

The lines of his face were softer, and his breathing regular and deep. While he slept on his stomach, one of his arms disappeared under the pillow and the other was curled up next to his body and under his chin, as though he might need it at a moment's notice. The bed sheets were pulled about halfway up his back, and Belle could see his muscles twitching in his sleep. She covered her mouth, stifling a giggle in her mouth before slinking out of the bedroom.

She'd let him sleep; enjoy a morning without interruption. If any day of the week was worth a little bit of a lie-in, Friday was it anyhow. It was a wonder she could be quiet enough to slink out, so she endeavored to continue her soft steps and light touches as she made her way toward the kitchen.

Looking at the ground, she smiled to herself, stepping over and around the trail of clothes that very obviously told the story of how the rest of the night progressed. She blushed as she sidestepped her pale pink bra, leaning down to grab her undergarments, stepping into them and pulling them up with a flush on her cheeks. The shirt might have been long, but it wasn't that long… His tie lay on the ground, and his trousers were right near the bed. Belle flushed as she kicked her stockings to the side and then looked at her dress by the door.

They were a veritable Hansel and Gretel of depravity, apparently. She didn't know what her father might say. She hadn't been totally innocent since high school – everyone was doing it, and there were drive-ins and she had a boyfriend who loved her, even gave her his varsity jacket – fumbling and awkward – nothing special. It was all stupid really, but then they broke up and she was brokenhearted, and then there was George, and he wasn't exactly a Casanova, and certainly didn't win any prizes for caring about her or what she wanted, particularly when they were intimate, but it was what she expected. Without a mother to talk to her, and relying on her friends and magazines and movies, whatever she could find, it wasn't exactly a far stretch.

Mr. Gold wasn't like her high school boyfriend though, and he wasn't like George either. He was considerate, and slow. He worshipped her. Belle had never been worshipped before, not even close. Maybe she was still positively glowing with the memory of his lips finding every inch of her, hands skimming expertly over her soft flesh, and breathy words that tingled her ears – how a man could make words a seductive tool of his own was a wonder. Perhaps it wasn't so far fetched that the man was a lawyer.

When she made her way out of the bedroom, the polaroids she had shoved at him were strewn all over the floor. Belle crouched and gathered them up, looking at them one more time. He had called them tarty, and she supposed he was right… but she supposed it was something she wanted to know if he said for real… or just in the heat of the argument. Either way, the pictures had to be moved so no one would slip on them and she placed them on the side table on the way to the kitchen.

Breakfast was going to be a simple affair, particularly as Belle's muscles were dull and achy, but she had enough energy to scramble some eggs, make toast, and fry bacon. That wasn't too much, and she grabbed frying pans from the cabinet, placing them on the gas range. She turned the flames on and crossed the kitchen to the refrigerator, taking out the necessary items out and placing them on the counter, near the stovetop. Frowning, she looked around to grab a spatula and a butter knife, slicing off a pat of butter for each pan, depositing them was met with a satisfying sizzle.

Belle began to move with certainty, now that she was in a place that she understood and could actually function. Besides, she thought one of the defining points of what she said last night was she was going to do what she wanted to do, regardless of what he deemed she did and didn't have to do. Belle wasn't aware she had that impulse, but she did, and even the simple act of scrambling eggs was at least her choice to do it.

As she maneuvered in front of the stove, Belle realized how odd it was, to be making breakfast for someone other than her father, and in the state she was in, with tousled hair and she was sure her eyeliner and mascara (what was left of it) was smudged – her lipstick had been lost very shortly into the evening. One such smear decorated the collar of the white shirt she was currently wearing. Hopefully he'd have it dry-cleaned, she mused.

Pulling several strands of bacon out of the pan with a fork, Belle moved to grab another couple strands when she felt an arm around her waist. As she giggled and he used his chin to nudge the hair away from her shoulder, resting there. "You're surprisingly quiet in the morning," he murmured against her cheek, nipping at her ear with enough bite to make her notice, but not hard enough to make her hands falter.

Belle tried not to let on just how much she enjoyed it – though she was sure he could tell by the flush on in her skin that she did. The rough, morning chuckle that slipped from his lips was enough to make Belle abandon ideas of breakfast, but she'd be wasting food, and she couldn't do that. No, she just had to turn her head a bit and catch him in a quick kiss. "Good morning," she greeted, "I didn't even hear you come in."

"I endeavored to be as quiet as possible," hot breath tickling her skin. Belle giggled again, shaking her head, trying to squirm away, but he held onto her tighter and placed another open mouthed kiss under her ear. "My shirt looks fantastic on you, by the way," his fingers played with the last set of buttons she had done, trying to coax it undone.

"Thank you," she shimmied a bit against him, hearing the rustle of fabric – he must have been wearing an undershirt and shorts. Good to know, she figured, considering she didn't necessarily anticipate getting an eyeful first thing in the morning. He had different plans apparently, which let Belle to swat his hand and readjust the button closed with a tut of her tongue, signaling disapproval. "No, no," she tried to keep her smile to herself, "Breakfast," she chided, earning a snort in return. "You have work," she added, "need your strength to deal with those brutes all day."

Gold laughed lightly, "Which set of brutes dear? Colleagues or clients?" he finally moved away from her back, a good thing too – she was distracted by him, and when he moved into her view, she realized he was wearing full flannel pants. She realized in the dim lighting of the previous evening she hadn't actually seen his bad leg. It must have been a point of contention for him: no matter, his bare arms were more than enough, lean but strong.

Making sure she generously looked him over, making her 'elevator eyes' as obvious as possible – earning quite the smug grin from her companion. "Well, now that you mention it, both. You'll need extra strength." She nodded decisively, pouring the eggs into the sizzling hot pan. It would be very short work of cooking them. Pushing them around with the spatula, Belle was feeling fairly satisfied, adding a dash of salt and pepper, just for taste.

Gold seemed completely enamored with the process, and Belle looked over at him, her grin still painted on her lips. He looked contemplative for a moment and nodded, "It is Friday, isn't it dearie?" Belle's smile folded into a perplexed pout, eyebrows pulled in with confusion as she nodded. "I can't remember the last three day weekend I took…" he trailed off, rubbing the slightly stubbly chin.

Realization dawned on her and Belle shook her head, "Oh no you don't," she smirked as she lifted the pan from the stove, pushing the eggs onto the plate with the bacon and toast. "You don't get to just skip out on work just because you're a big shot and you want to spend your day doing God knows what," she handed him his plate and then worked on her own.

"Or who," he quipped with a sly wink, that smug look still on his face as Belle flushed an even deeper shade of pink. She made a statement by grabbing the forks and breezing straight past him toward the table.

She glanced over her shoulder at him, watching as he limped after her, now unafraid to make noise with his cane. "No, you are going to work today," Belle mused, pulling out her chair and sitting down and putting his fork down on the table. "I don't think your office would be very happy with you if you didn't."

He sat down with a wry smile. "While Gold, Powers, and Mills would be devastated to see me not come in today, I'm fairly sure one partner would not be terribly missed." Belle's fork halted, and she eyed him. Partner? She hadn't even realized. And those names – well, she wasn't familiar with Powers… but Mills. Belle suddenly felt her stomach do a flip-flop. "Ah yes," his voice soured with recognition. "Mills?" he queried, and Belle had no choice but to nod. "Yes, it would seem the world is quite small."

"So… it is that Mills family?" Belle asked, just to clarify. The image of Regina's face floated through her mind, and she shivered, just imagining what connection she must have had and how that impacted her relationship with Gold. It did make sense, in some small way, thinking about how she talked to her about Mr. Gold. Pieces were falling into place.

Of course, for him, it didn't seem like such a big deal, and he continued eating, cutting the proper way, fork turned around and knife down – like her mother taught her but father did not maintain as time went on. Whatever the case, she watched his hands and then his face as he chewed, and swallowed, as calm as ever. "Well, her late father, Henry," his eyes flicked up at her, "was a partner with us. After his untimely passing, we didn't want to remove the name. Henry Mills was a good attorney, solid man;" he nodded slowly, "his daughter was… less solid."

Belle couldn't help but let out a bark of a laugh. If that wasn't the truth, she wouldn't know what was. "So… the Mills' aren't involved in the actual firm anymore?" she asked, picking up her toast and nibbling on it. She was starving, despite the upset of the knowledge that Regina was connected to him in another way.

The pause between them held no promises of good news for her, and Belle swallowed hard, "Not in the same way, no, but we are the legal council for the club," she should have known, "and she does have… connections, through various associates to the firm." Belle understood the implications and she frowned, just imagining how many people she could hear about them from, how many eyes were on her all of the time and she never even knew it. She wondered, momentarily, whether or not that was why she was smoking Belle out in the first place. It was likely.

Nibbling at the toast a little more, Belle tried to calm her thoughts by herself. It wasn't as though Regina had her eyes on everything. She was just trying to find Belle's slip-up. She had no actual idea. That must have been it. It had to be. Glancing up at Mr. Gold across the table, "I'm on probation," she finally admitted, feeling another weight float up from her shoulders. "She's looking for anything to fire me," Belle explained, "and this," a hand wave between them, "is breaking every rule there is in the Bunny handbook."

It seemed like that was enough for him to put down his fork and knife and look at her, really look at her. He mulled his jaw, "Why do you keep working there, Belle?"

That was the elephant in the room, wasn't it, the reason she stayed. Licking her bottom lip, Belle took a deep breath through her nose. "The money," was her first reaction, though it felt somehow hollow. If it was really just that, she'd find other ways. "It's not just about the money," she admitted, thinking of the place itself and all of the things that went on. "I have friends there – better friends than I've ever had in my entire life." Belle's eyes searched for anywhere except his face, "It's nice to have people."

"People hurt each other," he pointed out, though not maliciously. It was a counterpoint, a discussion Belle did not anticipate. She wondered what had hurt him so badly in the past that he would point something like that out.

Shrugging, Belle considered. "They do," she conceded, "But people are also supportive, caring… loving," she smiled a little bit, glancing up finally to take in his contemplative expression. "It gets really lonely without people." Belle had never realized, up until she started talking about it, how much she hated being lonely, how painful it was to be that way. When she looked at Mr. Gold, maybe he was thinking the same thing, because he looked distant – like he was thinking of another time, maybe when this apartment wasn't so clinical looking and there had been people around. "You were lonely, weren't you?" she asked quietly, not wanting to startle him too much.

"No," he answered a little too quickly for Belle's taste and she tilted her head, drawing her eyebrows in to decide what would be the best question to ask – or just will him to speak with her stern look. Apparently the latter occurred because he spoke again before she did, "I am not alone nearly enough to be lonely," his lips quirked into a smirk, deflecting with humor.

Belle pushed herself up from the table and walked around the side of the table, putting her hands on his shoulders. "You don't need to be alone to be lonely," she pointed out, giving his shoulders a gentle squeeze before she leaned down to kiss his cheek. Mr. Gold turned his head and caught her in a surprise kiss, soft and sweet. Belle didn't want to read into it too much, but she could tell he was agreeing with her. A pleasant hum buzzed in her throat as he tried to get her permission for a deeper kiss and Belle pulled away with a sly smile. "Time to get ready for the day."

Unable to talk Gold out of calling in 'sick' and several hours later, Belle was just… glad… that she was out of the penthouse. Riding in the back seat of the car alone (she at least got him to agree to do some work at home), Belle could not have been happier for scarves. She had been absolutely mortified when she was brushing her teeth and she noticed the dark splotches on the side of her neck – marks that she hadn't even realized she was given.

Her scream had her only companion moving faster than she thought was possible, and as he laughed at her, full and hearty, she couldn't help but hit him on the shoulder, though she couldn't muster the will to actually put force behind it. Then he pushed her against the counter… Well, now she was going to work with the very marks he laughed at emblazoned across her neck.

She had tried to cover them up with make-up but she just… it wasn't working. Belle knew who she was going to have to ask, and she prayed, probably for the first time in ages, that Ruby would not say anything. Doubtful though, Belle realized, and she would have to answer for it. It was the most anxiety ridden ride she'd ever had, and pulling in front of the club, Belle just couldn't wait to get it taken care of. If Regina saw, that would be the end of it.

Clamoring out, she murmured her thanks to Hongrois who nodded without any difference from the previous day, though Belle felt like he could just tell – that everyone could just tell – and she flushed as she stepped out and practically ran inside. She was a few minutes late, everyone would probably already be there, and she hoped she could slip in – avoid trouble, but, of course, as she stepped out of the stairwell, "Bunny Belle!" the oily smooth voice of Regina greeted her and Belle had to stop herself from cringing and uphold the most insincere smile she'd ever had.

Belle slowly turned around, hoping her scarf was on as securely as it felt, "Regina, hi," her attempt at smoothness was the best she could do. "Sorry, got caught up this morning," not an untruth, her mind immediately wandered to the walk-in shower and the extra time spent there. She willed herself to not blush. "Is there something you need?"

"Just checking in," she smiled, putting her arm around Belle's shoulder. Belle tensed and her stomach twisted anxiously. She wanted to flee, but Regina was there and she had her cornered. She was like a jaguar or some other big cat that hunted alone and Belle felt like a gazelle or something small that was going to be eaten alive. "I heard, last night, Mr. Gold was a bit rough with you?"

Belle blinked, a disgustingly bright blush coming onto her cheeks. Word choice, word choice, Belle couldn't deal with. She had to overcome this. Her lips quirked into a half smile and shook her head, "Just his normal self," Belle's voice wavered only slightly, trying not to betray herself, but it was almost impossible. Secrets were that way for a reason.

"Oh, Bunny Belle, you don't have to protect him, trust me," her voice practically purred, attempting to lull her into security, make her believe that it was alright to trust her. Belle was on high alert though, she wasn't going to slip up, she couldn't. "I wouldn't want him to run you off," she laughed brightly, though there was no actual sunshine and kindness in her voice, she was like a doll – lifeless eyes and painted smile. "I have some… very important customers coming in tonight," her voice was careful, and Belle's smiled ticked a little bit, "So I'll need you to help with the section by the band."

Belle wasn't sure how she felt about that. It was the busiest section, it was away from the bar (a farther walk), and it wasn't her section… she wouldn't have a chance to get to the phone… There were many things that Belle did not like about this scenario, not limited to the gleam in Regina's eyes that made her squirm uncomfortably. "I – well, are you sure you'd want me to switch? I'm clumsy as it is," Belle smiled, thinking talking about herself might make it a bit better, "wouldn't want to give me extra chances to drop glasses, I think!"

Regina laughed briefly, shaking her head at Belle, pulling her along as she walked. Belle stumbled at first, but regained her footing, practically jogging to keep up with Regina's long strides. "You'll be doing cigarettes and cigars with Ruby tonight; it's going to be a busy one."

"Are you sure I can handle it?" Belle asked, hoping that Regina would realize what a terrible idea it was and let her stay in her section where she could smile at Gold and lean over the table and flirt with him instead of handing out cigarettes to strangers that she didn't care about. Maybe it hadn't been a long time that they personally knew one another, but he had been coming to the club for as long as she had worked there, and she had always waited on him. She wondered, momentarily, what he thought about it – but couldn't dwell as Regina stopped.

Turning to face Belle, Regina's face softened, her head tilting just so. She put her hands on her shoulders, and it really just seemed like she was trying so hard – compensating for something, but Belle couldn't know. "I have no fear you can handle it, Bunny Belle. Now get ready. I had Yaga dry clean your gold suit to wear again, for the special occasion." She actually didn't realize that they had stopped in front of the backstage door, and for that, Belle was grateful. She wanted out of Regina's company immediately.

They parted ways, Belle nodding her understanding and she walked into the back, the other girls, the ones she had talked about that very morning, were all gathered, and heads turned as she entered, evidently louder than she intended. She blushed at the attention and moved through to her usual seat near the back. Ruby, Ashley, and Mary Margaret were all surrounding the seat and two of the three looked positively exhausted.

Ashley and Ruby, with their tired eyes and pale skin, probably just a little bit too much champagne and dancing from the night before, turned on her, eyes narrowing at the exact same time. "Hello girls," Belle smiled brightly, hoping to distract them, and possibly use a pitch just a touch too high to discourage any questions, "did you hear there are VIPs tonight?" she asked, curiously. The other girls seemed to look between one another, shrugging their shoulders. It didn't appear anyone but Belle was informed of this. "I'm doing cigarette box with you, in your section, Ruby."

Ruby sluggishly turned her head, blinking for a moment before a slow smile spread across her face. "Running with wolves tonight, huh?" she giggled, "You'll make great tips," she added before yawning and grabbing the glass of water on her desk, drinking almost the whole thing in a few gulps. Clearly, someone was dehydrated.

Belle smirked just a little bit, knowing the all too familiar sign of a good night – the girls often came in downing asprin and water in excess, "How was the mansion last night?"

It seemed like they were reticent to say anything about it, each of them exchanging a look in turn. Belle merely removed her jacket, keeping on her scarf for the time being, until they were distracted and she could grab her collar and cuffs. "It was fun," Ruby answered almost too cautiously, "it didn't end until six this morning." Ashley groaned out loud, apparently that detail was enough to break down her stoic face for a reaction.

It also allowed Ashley to jump in, "There was champagne everywhere – and dancing – and people! So many people! Ruby had her hands full all night," she stole a glance toward her raven haired friend, who tried to look innocent for a moment before she was giggling. Belle and Mary Margaret were now sitting side by side, waiting for the explanation for that little interlude. "Well," Ashley continued, Ruby's lips shut, "first, the accounts manager – Mr. Hopper," Ruby chimed in with his first name, "Archie – was there, and Ruby danced with him for half the night, but then there was this other guy - August, I think? Said he was a poet or something, a storyteller and…"

"And he was so charming!" Ruby finally gushed, practically squeaking with excitement. They were suitably distracted, Belle noticed, and was so glad she brought it up. "He was telling me," she looked so excited she squeaked, "He's been to Nepal! He held a lemur," she sighed, a romantic little thing, and Ruby dropped, with her body facing the wrong way, onto her chair. "Archie is totally sweet, kind of in a Frankie Avalon innocent sort of way, but August… well… he's – he's like James Dean… Rebel without a Cause!"

That was just too much. Exchanging a look with Mary Margaret, she and Belle started giggling. "You know," Mary Margaret pointed out, "you probably shouldn't be messing around with either of them – unless you want the Chicago Police Department getting involved."

With a roll of her eyes, Ruby leaned her arms on the backrest of the chair, her chin resting up them comfortably. "It was just a little bit of fun, M&M," she pointed out seriously, and then allowed herself to grin. "By the way, Belle, I love your scarf." Belle looked down at the fabric, giving herself a moment to clear her throat.

"It's the same one I've always worn," she covered quickly, "but thanks," a sweet smile, enough (she thought) to put it to rest for Ruby's sake. Besides, she had another tactic, "Ashley, did you and Sean ever make up?" she turned now, to look in the mirror at her station and fix her hair, busy her hands. Ruby sat up straighter, and Ashley stopped getting ready.

She pursed her lips; Belle could see it in the mirror and sighed. "We're working on it," the terse answer was enough that Belle could tell it wasn't the best question to have asked, but maybe it would keep them quiet. Turning her head slightly to the right, she wondered if it looked like Tia's handiwork. "Belle?" Ruby trilled in a song-song, "You're dragging your feet today and you weren't at the mansion last night…" she eyed her critically, "stay up late?"

Alright, Ruby was being nosy – too nosy –she needed someone discreet to deal with the problem of her neck. Licking her lips, she shook her head, ready to lie once again, "Not at all. Why would I be?"

Pulling her chair over, Ruby shook her head. "You're so sweet," she cooed, like Belle was a baby and she was looking for a bottle or had just taken a few toddling steps. "Belle, I'm not stupid."

Hands in her head, Belle turned her head to look at her, "Of course you're not. Why would you say that?"

Ruby reached forward, quicker than Belle had time to react and tugged the scarf from the side of Belle's neck. The woman tried to stop her, clamping her cheek against her shoulder, but the fabric was slippery, Ruby's hands too fast and strong, and the scarf was abandoned on the floor. All three of her companions gasped at the same time and Belle's cheeks lit on fire. "Belle!" Mary Margaret squeaked, "Did you burn yourself curling your hair this morning?" she asked, wide-eyed innocence and concern coloring her face.

Color rose to Belle's cheeks as Ruby rolled her eyes with exasperation, "M&M! Those are not burns," she pointed out, "those are hickeys – and Belle has been keeping secrets!" All three seemed to scoot forward at the same time, blocking her in. "Who is it?" Ruby asked, "Details!"

Belle knew she couldn't – and she didn't want to. Her cheeks were flaming red, she felt very exposed, and she shook her head, scrunching her shoulders up like some kind of demented turtle just to avoid looking like a complete floozy. "I can't," she looked at all three of them in turn, "Really – I mean, if I could… well, I wouldn't – but even still, don't ask, please?"

"Is everything okay?" Mary Margaret immediately latched onto the lack of information as something bad, and put her hand on Belle's. Her sympathy was much more genuine than Regina's ever could be, and Belle shook her head, placing her hand over Mary Margaret's.

Ruby, however, did not find the moment touching. She balked in laughter and pushed herself up and out of the chair. "Those aren't bruises M&M," she explained, "Those are hickeys."

The word was like an arrow, and Belle was shot straight through the gut. She didn't like the way hickey sounded, but certainly there wasn't really another word to convey what they truly were. Her hand flew up to her neck, covering the mark while her skin was hot and burning with embarrassment. "Ruby," she hissed, wanting to avoid the attention that was dragging their way, "Can you help me cover them, please?"

The moment was most likely intentional, sweating Belle out for details or something – but that wasn't going to happen. As far as Belle was concerned, Ruby could try as much as she wanted as she wanted to – nothing was going to be revealed, even if she was going to go insane by the constant questions.

It seemed like that was how the next hour passed as Ruby used whatever it was in her little kit that she had to cover up the dark marks and make her skin look as creamy and white as it had been before. Snapping on her collar, it was almost like they weren't there at all, and despite Ruby's demand for a payment of information, Belle could only tell her that they were very much worth getting and giggled with the knowledge her secret would surely scandalize them if she told. Mary Margaret was, at least, not trying to push her, though it didn't mean she wasn't leaning in to hear what was passing between the girls.

They got dressed, zipping each other up in turn, fixing what needed to be fixed either in their hair, their make-up, or their suits, and readied themselves for the next shift. Belle wondered who could be so important in the middle section that they needed her to cover with a cigarette box, and what Mr. Gold would think of it. She wasn't keen on the idea, but sticking by Ruby's side, she had no choice. Looking up at the girl who towered over her, Belle smiled, "Ready?"

"When you are," she giggled and hooked their arms awkwardly. "Come on, I'll show you where the trays are and give you a quick rundown before we start." Apparently Ruby's under-the-weather appearance upon Belle's arrival melted away and Ruby certainly had a convincing game face as she tugged her out, tipping forward in her heels for another night at the Playboy Club.


	11. XI

**A/N: **Hey everyone! My has it been a long time! I'm so sorry - life seemed to get in the way of everything, between one job and then getting another, I've just been working so much and haven't had a spare moment to write. However, today, I polished off another section! It might not be perfect, but it's done and I'm just glad I got back into writing something, believe me - it was a struggle! I hope the wait was worth it - enjoy!

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It didn't seem as though it would be too difficult to maneuver the cigarette box for the evening. They were all organized in their boxes, there was a lighter all set in the tray, and the refill boxes were in the backroom where they picked up the trays in the first place. It was a job she could handle. Her hands trembled as she worked the lighter the first time, Ruby laughing as she squeaked and the flame burst from the lighter.

Assured it got easier with time, Belle let Ruby lead her out and onto the sparsely populated floor. It wouldn't pick up for an hour or so, but it gave Ruby a chance to show her how cigarette bunnies worked and what she was supposed to do. Observing would have been easier if Belle's eyes weren't anxiously searching for Gold's entrance. She found it hard to think of him in terms of his first name, so Gold he would remain, unless, of course she was angry, then Robert flashed pretty visibly in her mind.

She hadn't seen him yet though, wondering if he had fallen asleep at his desk – or worse, hadn't done any work at all – and was going to be late. She wanted to see him, but she had to be in this section, handing out cigarettes instead. It really wasn't fair, but Regina was not truly known for her fairness. She overheard Winifred saying that she was going to be covering Belle's section for the night and she hoped to high heaven the brash, but sensitive young woman wouldn't take her place permanently.

Pursing her lips together, fixing her lipstick, after the first fifteen customers she watched Ruby attend to, smiling and apologizing for gawking to every one, she could branch out on her own. She hadn't seen any VIPs so far, and she somehow doubted it was a secret celebrity. If someone important was here, they'd know. News travelled fast from willing lips, and Belle just didn't see anyone out of the ordinary, no one to have a special move for her.

Maybe Regina just said that to get her to agree. Belle wouldn't doubt it. She had wanted her to move more than once in the past week. Was it Belle she was punishing? Or was it Gold? Maybe it was her way of figuring things out. Belle wasn't even halfway interested in lighting cigarettes as she walked around with her fake smile and empty words. Sure, the section didn't vary too drastically from her own, with one notable exception, which apparently, made all the difference, as Ruby walked up by her side, "Just a head's up, Belle, but you look absolutely miserable – and if I can muster looking thrilled with this headache, you better pick it up. Regina will rip you a new one."

Ruby was looking out for her, Belle knew that, but it didn't mean that she was happy about it. She had Ruby to compete with, she wasn't making the tips she was used to making, and she didn't know these men or their preferences. She felt silly, not knowing their favorite brands when it seemed so natural to Ruby. Belle felt foolish, and she wanted to go back to her space where she knew drink orders and wouldn't falter and go slow. The least Regina could have done was keep her on drinks.

She was so far out of her comfort zone, it was asking for failure. If Belle did not have so much pride, she probably would have walked right up to Regina and quit, but that wasn't the way to go about things. She'd give it her all. If she was going to get fired, at least let the person who messed up have to do it. She could also use whatever tips she could get before she was driven out.

Making sure she adjusted her smile, Belle went about her business again, delivering cigarettes to patrons – Reds seemed to be going awfully fast – and chopping the ends off of cigars for the patrons who wanted those. Belle hated them, personally, they smelled and she didn't really enjoy cigarettes either – the lie that almost had her caught the other day.

As she finished lighting up the cigars – and fantasies of one table – Belle moved away, not really wanting to take the nose-full of smoke that would inevitably follow. Apparently all of the terrible and droll comments that could be made about whiskey and drinking were made twice as bad with cigarettes. Honestly, men had one thing on their mind, and they weren't getting it with her. None of them seemed to grasp that concept.

Looking for Ruby, Belle spotted her leaning over a table, brushing her hand across the jaw of some young man with a healthy beard and a clever smile. Maybe it was the August fellow that Ashley had mentioned. It certainly wasn't poor Archie. With a shake of her head, Belle decided she was going to have to handle the riff-raff on her own and made her way around the tables of a mix of familiar and unfamiliar faces.

Some of them, she recognized from her previous section, particularly the young men who thought they were suave in their dark suits with slicked back hair, wearing heavy watches and shark smiles. They were very young, Belle realized, perhaps in years no younger than herself, but sheltered, living in a world where they got whatever they asked for, and seldom actually needed to ask for it. One in particular, the Marco who had cornered her about her pictures – which seemed to be a lifetime away at this point, was sitting with a group of what looked like his peers and Belle was powerless to do anything about the fact they were looking straight at her.

She had to suck it up, she had to go over and play her part, do her job. Glancing at her own section longingly, she couldn't see Gold's usual table from where she was, but she prayed he was there, and prayed that she could get a break sooner rather than later to even just walk by. It'd feel much more comfortable, she was sure. He looked after her, shady as it was, and here, in new territory, she had a strange feeling that although she was with the other girls, they didn't see much use in protecting.

"Bunny Belle, right?" the lilting voice of Marco greeted with a feral grin. It wasn't playful flirting, there was something menacing behind his eyes.

Clearing her throat, Belle reminded herself of her job and smiled, "You remembered," she almost sounded happy – in fact, if she did not know the torment in her own mind over pretending so fiercely, she might have believed it herself, "And – forgive me if I'm wrong, but Michael – wasn't it?" It would seem more realistic if she forgot his name – and he didn't really deserve any of her lasting affection.

Straightening his tie with a dark look, Marco shook his head. "No such luck, Doll face. It's Marco."

"Oh! That's right," she couldn't bring herself to giggle, no matter how hard she tried, especially not for him. "Well Marco," she looked around the table, "and friends – since I'm not taking care of drinks tonight, can I interest any of you in a cigar or cigarette?" she pivoted her foot out like she was supposed to, one side of her hips higher than the other, like Ruby taught her, and grinned like her life depended on it.

Of course, she could, and the men around him wanted their various brands, whatever it was, Belle wasn't very accustomed to the different kinds available, and even Marco seemed placated as he requested a red. Looking down in her tray, Belle bit her lip. "Excuse me for a moment, gentlemen," and walked away feeling entirely unsettled by the experience.

There was nothing familiar about this. Usually, when Belle would have words for her patrons, she found herself lacking and nervous. When she disappeared into the backroom, it felt like it was the first time she could breathe in hours. She sucked in huge gulps of air, not really realizing how much being out there suddenly felt like drowning. Once sated with air, she turned to the shelves and looked for the token red boxes she so needed to see.

Belle's hand froze as she heard a sound – almost inconsequential, but loud enough that she was aware. There was someone else approaching. It was most likely Ashley or even Ruby, coming for something, she told herself. No one really came back here unless they needed to and who would follow her anyway? It seemed ridiculous to even think about.

So, she continued about her task, grabbing several boxes from the very back of the shelf- apparently they needed to be absolutely impossible to get to, even in her heels. But then, there it was again: the sound of footsteps. Belle fumbled, grabbing onto the cold, metal racks to keep her balance.

She lowered her heels down, more stability, and sighed, lowering her forehead against smooth metal. A deep breath and she was ready to just go. She was getting jittery, maybe it was just everything finally processing. It had to be that. "Keep it together, French," she murmured to herself, rubbing her temple while her other hand still held onto the rack.

"Having trouble keeping your stories straight?" another voice – a very familiar voice – piped in. Belle reeled, pulling her head up so quickly that she grazed her forehead on the sharp under-edge of the metal shelf. She tried not to whimper as she reached up, feeling the sticky wetness on her fingers. It wasn't a lot, but more than she was comfortable with, to be sure. Mr. Gold was standing in the doorway, clutching his cane and staring her down – there was very little kindness in his eyes.

"Gold?" she tilted her head to the side – why did he seem so out of sorts? Had something happened? Belle wondered if this was about dealing with Marco – she thought she'd done well, not revealed anything. Maybe it was something about Regina – either way, she was at a loss for what she had done. He let out a bark of a laugh and Belle blinked. "What's wrong?"

He shifted only slightly, eyes still bearing into her. His fingers twitched around the handle of his cane and he rolled his shoulders, just enough that Belle could see the perfectly tailored fabric move on his body. "A funny question for you to be asking," he pointed out, "perhaps you could enlighten me as to what is wrong?"

Belle blinked. She had no idea what he was talking about. "I just ran out of cigarettes," she pointed out, a little edge to her voice. This was employees only, and he was asking her about something she didn't really understand in the back room, acting like she had committed some major offense. It wasn't really the time or place, and she was bleeding because he had startled her.

He clicked his tongue. The sound was accompanied by small shakes of his head, his methodical footsteps bringing him closer, and Belle instinctively drew her body up against the rack. "I don't appreciate lying, dearie," his eyes flashed with something Belle could not recognize. "You expect me to believe you're not in your usual section, doing your usual job, because of cigarettes?"

"What?" Belle balked, unsure of how to understand just what he was getting at. Mr. Gold could not be serious – thinking she chose where and when she worked. It wasn't her choice – and even if it were, did he really think she'd request to not be in her usual section with her usual job. "Why wouldn't you believe me?" her voice waved, but there was intensity there – a good deal of anger at the insinuation.

His face was tense, jaw tight, and eyes bearing into her. Belle shifted on her heels and swallowed hard. "You don't need to pretend, Belle," her name didn't have the same resonating warmth as it had that morning – it was laced with accusation, and Belle bristled. "It's not as though I expected anything different, except perhaps courtesy." There was no appropriate reaction to that, Belle realized, as she stared slack-jawed at the most incomprehensible man she had ever laid eyes on. His lips curled into a cruel smirk, "No need to look so shocked, dearie. My business is the truth, after all."

Immediately set back, Belle shook her head. "I don't know what problem you've invented for this," she motioned between them, "but I can't talk about this right now. If Regina finds out…"

"Regina!" he spat, cutting her off. "Say no more," he waved his hand, "I'll be sure to leave you to it, Bunny Belle. Feel free to contact Hongrois – he will take care of whatever you need."

Belle might have let him go – she might have, before, but watching him look at her with purposefully blank eyes, pushing her away. Something had happened – something that he was unwilling to explain, and Belle could see it – if only she could know! Pride, however, disallowed the man she had entangled herself with to admit anything to her, much less speak about his feelings, which were beyond what he was showing here.

This wasn't right – it couldn't be right, not after everything. He started to walk, to leave, and Belle couldn't stand by and watch it. Striding after him, forgetting her cigarette box and chore, she grabbed his shoulder. "No," she wavered at first, "No, you don't get to do this."

A snarl entered his voice, "I get to do as I please," he countered. The space, filled with racks and boxes, dimly lit, it all seemed to get smaller in that moment, his bristling, raised shoulders taking over small space, and Belle felt bigger too, standing taller and angrier. "And it would be my pleasure to see myself out."

Disgust vibrated in Belle's throat, "I don't know what anyone told you – or worse – what you believe, but you don't get to decide this by yourself." Belle could feel the tension building in the pit of her stomach, and for a brief moment – a flicker of nausea bubbled up, "This is my life too – and I make my choices."

He might have looked startled, if not for the practiced swallow of a grimace and setting of his jaw – so calm and collected on the outside that it made Belle want to scream. She knew, however, in the back of her head, was aware screaming would do nothing for her. "You've already made yours – and thus, I've made mine." His hand flexed around the handle of the cane with such control it made Belle uncomfortable, so much so, she stood in silence. "You may collect your things and leave by tomorrow afternoon. I will not be there to see you off."

The brisk turn was made with such ease that Belle briefly wondered if her instincts were off – if he really did care or not. She swallowed hard as the door clicked, leaving her alone, and his footsteps echoing down the hallway. What was the right course of action? Belle's throat constricted with the realization she had no idea, and her shift wasn't even half over.

Her shaking hands grabbed for her cigarette box and she pushed down her desire to flee. She needed time – she needed a plan, and grabbing what she needed, Belle could only do that if she still had a job to do it at. Pushing the door open, her knees still wobbled in her shoes and her breathing was still labored, but she was calm – she could do this. All she had to do was get back into the club. "Bunny Belle – just the bunny I was looking for."

It appeared it would have to wait. Regina called.


	12. XII

**A/N: **I just wanted to extend a huge thank you to all of my readers, followers, and favoriters! It makes me so happy every time I post a chapter that you guys are there and giving amazing feedback. I hope the story is still as entertaining as it was at the beginning and hope the new twists and turns don't disappoint. Enjoy this chapter, and hopefully a new one will follow soon!

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Of course, timing could not be more inopportune, but Regina had a knack for bad timing. If Belle didn't believe she'd have her fired on the spot for whatever it was she had with Mr. Gold, she might have thought Regina had something to do with what just transpired. Hell, she might have anyway – Belle didn't know.

There was just one thing to do, and that was squash her innermost desire to run away, and speak amicably to the woman who stood between Belle and another lifetime of debt repayable by shoddy work in retail.

"Regina," Belle smiled, though she didn't feel it reach anywhere near her eyes, "So sorry, I ran out of Reds," hopefully that was what this was about. Belle could talk her way out of it, even if she'd been missing from the floor for nearly fifteen minutes. This wasn't her normal routine, it could be excused.

The woman waved her hand, dismissing the excuse with her predatory smile, flipping Belle's stomach over on itself. "You look as if you've seen a ghost, Bunny Belle." Belle glanced at her, trying to decipher just what this woman with her blank smile actually wanted from her.

Belle shook her head, breathing in through her nose. "It's a bit hot," Belle pretended to admit, not really sure what Regina was getting out, and not particularly interested in knowing. To avoid Regina's questioning, she would do almost anything – especially if it was going to protect her job, her father, and even that idiot, Gold. He might have just thrown away an opportunity that Belle had just been starting to consider as viable, but she intended to get to the bottom of it. She did not easily give up on the things she wanted.

It appeared, in that way, she and Regina were the same. The woman curled her arm about Belle's shoulder, her perfectly manicured nails digging into her bare flesh, and Belle tensed. "You don't look flushed," she pointed out, and Belle tried not to betray herself. Shrugging, she hoped to deflect the comment as well as get Regina's nails out of her arm.

The woman's grip only tightened.

"It's why I was taking my time. Much cooler back here," Belle finally explained, supplying the words that would hopefully get her out of this situation.

But, Regina had something else in mind. "Well, it's a good thing then – I wanted to talk to you." It was like the kiss of death. How many times had Belle heard that in the past week? It seemed like Regina always wanted something from her. The woman had to know something – she had eyes and ears all over the place, but Belle had assumed she would be more forthcoming with anything she'd heard.

Perhaps, her assumptions were misguided. Maybe Regina was even sneakier than she appeared. This game was definitely edged in Regina's favor – the woman kept her cards close, but Belle was not going to let the disadvantage beat her. "What can I do for you, then?" she asked, hoping to get at least a sliver of information out of this.

"I was circulating on the floor," Regina started, "and stopped by your section – tonight's, and inquired as to how you were doing." Belle raised her eyebrows. She was fairly certain Regina wouldn't stop her for a compliment when she could keep working, so what was there to complain about? "Some of the tables said they were disappointed in how distracted their cigarette bunny seemed. Not quite the… friendly… service they anticipated." She suppressed the urge to point out that she did not have to be overly pleasant for anyone, particularly a round of customers that were not her regulars in a job she did not normally do – but this was not the time to make an argument. Belle just looked at her. "Is there something the matter, Bunny Belle? It's so unlike you to be so… unengaged with our clients."

This was all very bad. Belle's mind was jumping to places she was afraid to consider. What if Regina knew? She was sure she could find out. Maybe she had suspicions and was trying to use Belle to confirm them. She remembered Gold mentioning her connection to his law firm, her associations that could easily create animosity. Additionally, there were the rules – that binding book of paper that could dissolve Belle's hope of helping her father out of debt and changing her own life. "I guess I have a lot on my mind," Belle didn't outright lie.

Sympathy never quite fit Regina well, and her attempt was unsettling at best. Belle didn't' like it, and she was sure, if Regina did indeed have some kind of moral compass, it was furious she was even pretending. "You're not doing your job tonight, Bunny Belle, and right now, you're not convincing me you'll be able to put yourself into it tonight." Sympathy had turned to accusation, and Belle had a choice. She could agree and leave – potentially ending her employment. Or, she could disagree, stay, and play a part she loathed.

If she left now, there was potential to catch Gold at the penthouse. Was that worth losing everything she had worked for?

Belle took a deep breath through her nose, pushing her shoulders back to stand as tall as she could. With as good of a smile as she could force, and nodded resolutely. "I'll do better for the rest of the night, Regina," she promised.

"And if you don't?" Regina challenged with one eyebrow quirked.

Belle licked her bottom lip, "Then you can send me home."

It was probably impossible for Regina to look any more pleased than she already was. The woman is practically the cat who got the cream, and her blood red lips spread into a triumphant smile, eyes still devoid of sincere feelings. But, it was a challenge, and Belle always appreciated the pressure a challenge presented. She had to do well, if not, she was going to suffer more than disappointment this evening. "I'm glad we have an understanding."

Belle was released and all of a sudden, standing alone as Regina turned and her heels clicked down the hallway. It was as though she had never been there, a momentary blip that interrupted her already sour mood and suddenly, through no fault of her own, felt both deflated and energized – a most peculiar combination.

She just had to get going.

Belle started to walk and as she picked up speed down the hall, she decided it was time she put her mind to what she was doing. She needed to do well, and exiting back to the floor, the darkened lights and music were almost a shock, compared to the well lit back halls.

Shaking her head, Belle blinked, readjusting to the dark and took a deep breath – as deep as her corset would allow anyhow, and Belle put on her biggest smile. Despite the feeling of breaking into little pieces, she had to look whole and happy, be winsome and happy, and push the negative thoughts of Gold and his outburst or Regina and her empty face for the rest of her shift.

If she didn't… well, she didn't really have a choice, did she?

Her steps got more confident when she caught sight of Ruby flirting with a table, and glancing over with a questioning look. Belle wasn't going to worry her and shrugged her shoulders, signaling she was just fine.

Belle had to accept the role, of being fine, and maybe later, when Hongrois was driving her home, she could tell him about it. He didn't respond much, but she knew he talked to Mr. Gold, even if she hadn't heard it. It was important that she didn't break now. It would only make Regina happy, and at this point, that was Belle's last intention.

She played her part beautifully though, at least she thought so. She smiled and flirted, even if her heart wasn't in it – and not one patron cared that her eyes were glazed over or that she was looking at his forehead and not his eyes. It wasn't as though anyone she was talking to was really looking at her eyes either. That made avoiding them that much easier.

As she realized how good she was at it, the time passed more quickly – she got the hang of handing out cigarettes, and was even able to ignore it as Marco asked her if he could give her a ride home for the fiftieth time.

She didn't even care that he kept pestering her – when she looked at his forehead, shrugged off his comments, and just said she would get more cigarettes.

The only thing that mattered was making sure no one complained and Regina saw what she wanted to. From her bird's eye view on the stage or chatting with any customer she picked, Belle could feel her eyes trailing her around the club. She knew it was only going to take one mistake before Regina walked up, pretended to smile and pat her shoulder and tell her to go home and sort herself out. Then, maybe she'd offer a short vacation, and excuses – they'd come. Then, she'd get fired.

Every time she felt like rolling her eyes and being nasty, she remembered those angry brown eyes focusing on her – expecting her to make a mistake. Belle never did well meeting people's expectations.

With that motivation, before she knew it, the night was over, and even though she was acting like she didn't have a care in the world, as soon as the club cleared out and the girls were backstage, it felt like a ten thousand pound boulder deposited itself right between her shoulder blades and her head was congested with the plague of questions that were flooding her mind.

It was a blur, as she wiped off her make-up and conversation was happening all around her. She didn't have to put on the face anymore – the one that was smiley and pretending to listen. Sure, it concerned the girls, but it wasn't as though Regina was watching her backstage. If she did, she'd come over with that fake concern and try to get Belle to talk about it – admit her troubles, and effectively use it against her.

It wasn't readily apparent to Belle why she was the one Regina was focused on so intently (perhaps with the exception of Mary Margaret, who endured far more of Regina's outward scrutiny), but Belle endeavored when she was at the club; she wouldn't let Regina see it. She refused to have that woman destroying everything Belle had so readily worked toward.

She had bigger things to worry about; at least until she could prove that what she had heard that night, Mr. Gold's offers, and Regina's hatred were all connected. It seemed remote, but Belle's life had never been one of leisure and coincidence. She was not ready to dismiss a viable theory when it would only make sense that right now the world felt like it was falling apart – only second to the death of her mother, a completely different kind of universal collapse.

Rubbing the last of the make-up off of her face, Belle sighed. It was time to go. Most people had already trickled out, leaving Belle and the last few stragglers. "Why are you here so late?" Ruby asked as she sunk into the chair at the abandoned station next to Belle's.

Leaning her elbows on the table, Belle refused to let her head droop. She fought the urge to let her forehead hit the counter and let Ruby know. It wouldn't help either of them. "Stalling," Belle could tell the truth without being specific. "Dad's probably asleep," also true, "and it's so dark when I get back." That used to be true, anyway.

At Gold's they walked in together, and the lights were on, and Belle never had to worry about stepping too heavily or mistakenly knocking over the lamp because she was so exhausted she couldn't see straight.

Ruby seemed to nod in understanding though. "Gran's the same way," she sympathized, putting her hand on Belle's wrist before giving it a light squeeze. "But come on," she smiled again, "You don't want to stay here all night – regardless of what's waiting at home."

For a seventeen year old, Ruby could be so smart sometimes – so grown up. She was right. Belle couldn't avoid the inevitable by sitting there and grousing. Nodding with resolution, she pushed the chair back and stood from her station. "Can you give me a hand?" She chuckled awkwardly, trying to reach around to unzip her costume.

Ruby, always readily able to offer a hand popped up after her and helped with great speed. "Is everything else okay, Belle?" Ruby asked as she let go of the zipper and moved away. "I know you had kind of a rough night tonight – don't' give me that look – everyone could see it, not just Regina. M&M, Ashley, and I are worried about you."

With the simple, sweet concern Ruby offered, Belle had a hard time not starting to cry as she pulled her simple dress back on and buttoned up. As a social creature with the unfortunate history of having to take care of her father and now deal with this secret little world created, Belle longed to share – she thought she might have gotten a chance to have someone who could have attempted to understand, but Gold had disappointed her.

She couldn't let the girls be disappointed or worry about her, however. They didn't deserve that, and Belle smiled over her shoulder – reminding herself that this was real, that she didn't want to upset them, and to do so would probably start a host of problems she did not even want to add to the extensive list she already had. "I'm fine, really," Belle implored, "I was just very tired, and my father was starting to ask questions today. I feel guilty, lying to him."

Ruby's eyes lit up with sympathy. "Oh Belle, I'm sorry. I know how hard that can be." Perhaps, if Belle were telling the truth, Ruby might actually. Lying to a person like Ruby wasn't easy, but Belle needed to keep things quiet, and the fewer people who knew, the better. So, with that piece of information able to make its way around (as hard as Ruby tried, the girl was not good with secrets), Belle could buy some time. "Do you need someone to walk with?" she asked, always meaning well.

She couldn't risk it though, even if she wanted to, and shook her head. Belle knew that however delusional Gold was being, he wouldn't let her walk home by herself at wee hours of the morning, and Ruby didn't live far – she wouldn't want to send her out of the way. "No, thank you," Belle wrapped her arms around Ruby's shoulders and gave her a hug, "You should get going. You don't want to be too late. I'm going to clean my station then go."

Ruby looked slightly unsettled, but acquiesced without much further discussion, mostly because Belle made it a point to mention her grandmother's sleeping habits and she'd want to get back before she checked on her.

And then, suddenly, Belle was all alone. It was late, she was exhausted, and only a dim light remained on as she swept her things back into the drawers of her station, and she hung up her bunny suit for the evening. Even Minnie, the seamstress had left. She figured Regina might still be there, in her office, but no one else was in the dressing room. The eerie silence and lighting made Belle uncomfortable.

Rushing out, Belle didn't even bother to hit the lights behind her, not wanting to give the darkness an edge over her as she descended the back steps and pushed herself to quickly make it through the alley.

It was the first place she had spent any amount of private time with Gold, where he kissed her dizzy and left her wanting more – so cleverly sneaking his number into her pocket. She was angry at him, she knew that much, for whatever he pulled this evening, and striding through, she tried not to look at the patch of wall that he had pushed her against, that had rubbed rough against her coat, and left her with so much to think about.

Belle did not venture to curse much, but bastard was the appropriate word for him at the moment. She might have chosen a few other choice words, but she was still too much of a lady to even consider them.

Exiting the poorly lit space, Belle moved to the street and sighed in relief as she saw the black Cadillac waiting for her. Pulling her coat tighter around herself, Belle hurried forward, imaging that even if the penthouse was going to be empty and foreign, it was going to present her with a place to sleep and even get in touch with Gold, as much as she didn't want to beg and plead – she did have every intention of finding out just what was going on.

Getting in the car was the first step though, and Belle approached – knowing it was strange that Hongrois was not standing outside, readying himself to open the door for her, as he always did, but perhaps, because she had dawdled for so long, he fell asleep. That presented another set of guilty feelings, and Belle tugged on the back door quietly, hoping that she wouldn't startle him.

As the door opened, the engine revved – perhaps he hadn't been asleep at all! Belle let out a sigh of relief and settled into the seat, putting her bag down and shrugging off her coat. "I'm sorry, Hongrois." She fumbled in attempts to shut the door and smooth out her dress at the same time, "Lost track of time."

When she managed to shut the door, the car immediately pulled from the curb, and Belle lifted her eyes to the rear view mirror. Hongrois' warm, brown eyes did not greet her.

"So glad you could join me, Bunny Belle. I hope the car is to your satisfaction."


	13. XIII

**A/N: **So glad I got to get out another chapter this week! I hope everyone likes it - and another character in this story is from a fairy tale! Check out the author's note at the end for it.

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The car was going too quickly for Belle to get out. The streets were barren and it didn't even seem to matter that there were stop signs or lights. "What's going on?" Belle asked with a slight tremble in her voice, "Where is Hongrois?"

The driver, obscured by shadows with a voice that Belle only vaguely recognized, chuckled. "A non-issue, Bunny. Just get comfortable – and a word to the wise, stop asking questions."

Belle weighed her options. She could listen, wait for him to stop the car, and bolt. She could throw herself out and pray that she'd land safely without any broken bones, maybe just a ton of gravel imbedded into her arms and legs. Or, she could just do as he said, hope that made a difference in the end.

Most of those scenarios ended with her inevitable death, whether it was getting shot as she ran or breaking her neck, or simply being walked into the river.

It was funny, Belle had never been afraid to die before – it seemed like such a remote possibility as a girl with nothing remarkable about her life. If Belle two years ago heard this story, she would have imagined it coming from the back of a gossip rag or some kind of dime novel, but it was happening and this was reality.

Gulping, she squashed her fears – it wouldn't do to dwell on them. She had to focus. Steadying her breathing, the bunny weighed her options. She had to take her chances; she'd go along for the ride. Settling into the seat, she bit the inside of her cheek, hearing the driver laugh again. "Ah, so there is something in between those ears."

Belle was sure he was fond of his own voice at this point, and she couldn't dignify him with any sort of response. She focused on the window, watching the Chicago of early morning hours pass by, street lights and dim windows – tall towers asleep until day break. Belle wondered if it would be the last time she'd see any of it.

The thought filled her chest with horror, but she refused to cry. She refused to have emotions on the subject. Belle was going to do everything in her power to avoid death tonight. She had too much to do, too many bows to tie and livewires to detonate. It was going to take more than this to shut her down.

So, it continued rushing along, down the dark streets and toward the seedier side of the city, until they weren't even in the city anymore. The buildings were few and farer between, and it seemed like they had been driving for hours. Belle would have fallen asleep if not for the adrenaline streaming through her veins on a constant stream.

They were entering a residential area, she could tell by the shapes of the buildings. They looked like houses, big ones, and there were stretches of land in front of them – real yards. Belle had had a yard, always moving from apartment to apartment with her parents, and then just her dad. Yards were something one dreamed about – they didn't actually exist.

She might have dreamed about a place like this, if she had a normal life and normal prospects. Unfortunately, the word normal did not appear anywhere in any description of her life. The driver shut off the engine and got out. Belle didn't dare move until the back door opened and he grabbed her, without warning, to drag her out.

Belle winced as he tugged on her wrist, a sharp pain shooting through her arm as she was dragged out of the vehicle. "C'mon," her captor growled, Belle tripped over her feet as she was pulled. She braced herself as she thudded against the driver, his strong hands grasping her shoulders and steadied her.

Belle gulped as she leaned against him, finding her footing. His hand splayed against her back, holding her still and Belle looked up, half expecting Gold to be standing there, looking down at her with astonishment. But, she didn't see Gold. The man holding her wrist with just a tad too much force and a sneer on his face wasn't the same man she had tumbled into bed with the previous evening, and Belle winced as he shoved her. "Clumsy bitch," the man snarled, and Belle winced.

She hated the way his lips curled and how he didn't give her more than a moment to catch herself before he started again, and tugged her along with a sharp pull. Belle tripped behind him, but regained her footing enough that she could keep up with his long strides despite her rather short legs. "Hurry up," he spat as he looked back at her, Belle catching her first real glimpse at his face.

His features weren't as heavy as she thought – he had light brown skin, obviously a hired hand. There was no softness about him. Though his lips were full, there was nothing welcoming about them, and Belle did not fool herself into believing that despite his large build, he would be against wielding her with force. No, she had the sneaking suspicion he would be more than willing to use his strength against her. He proved that with every pull against her and the twist of her wrist with his firm grip.

The pain turned from sharp stabs to a consistent, dull ache in her hand and Belle grimaced. That could not be a good sign. The man didn't seem to care as she yelped; he only tugged harder and dragged her up the font steps. He squeezed her arm, digging his nails into her arm as he pulled out the keys and unlocked the door with a click.

He pushed the door open and stepped through, snapping at her to come on through his teeth. Belle obeyed, despite her instinct to flee. The house was dark, not just without light, but everything was dark in and of itself. Dark walls, dark furniture… Belle was horrified, and she had to stick close or he was going to do even more damage to her already aching wrist.

She seemed to keep up with him on the stairs that creaked with each hurried step, making Belle's heart race. "Where are we going?" she asked her voice barely above a whisper as they hit the landing between the first and second floors.

The man turned, whipping her violently into the wall. Belle yelped as she collided with the wood paneling, bracing herself with her shoulder. "Shut yourself up," he seethed, bristling as he loomed over her. "Or I'll make you."

Nodding wordlessly, Belle was still attempting to catch her breath from the impact with the wall. He wasn't going to give her a chance though, and they were moving again. Were she a weaker person, Belle might have cried. She wasn't giving anyone that luxury, however.

As they walked down the second floor hallway, it became apparent that one of the rooms had lights on. The closer they got the more Belle's heart jumped into her throat and stomach twisted into uncomfortable knots. Everything that mattered: her fate, her future… it was all behind that door and bathed in light.

Belle steeled herself and with one final pull she crossed the threshold into the lit room, her eyes overwhelmed by the light there. They slammed shut, her hands flying up to block the redness penetrating even if closed gaze. Feeling small, but finally at least a little free from the strong grip of her captor, Belle gulped and readied herself to open her eyes.

"You know," a smooth voice caressed her ears, coaxing her to open her eyes, "it's no wonder you're a favorite down at the club."

Belle couldn't be surprised. It smacked of the mob. Seeing the man in full light, she recognized him from the club, but not by name – and then there was Marco, standing in the corner with a smile Belle could not decipher. It made her uncomfortable. Even more uncomfortable than the fact that the man who had dragged her here was still standing behind her and the man at the desk, with his hands clasped on the top, one eyebrow raised as though he was waiting for her to respond.

She had nothing to say, mouth dry and throat empty. "Glass," Mr. Lattantio lifted his eyes behind her, Belle could only guess he was talking to the man who had taken her here, "Shut the door." She didn't turn, but she could feel the movement happening, hear the creaking of the floor, and the door clicked shut. Belle restrained herself from gripping her eyes closed, but she could not help the impulse to stop breathing. "Now that that's settled," he turned his eyes back to her, "Bunny Belle, was it?"

She nodded, still not breathing, hoping she would not be asked to respond further. "I've heard a lot about you. My son," he didn't even have to indicate it was Marco he was talking about "is fond of your service." She wasn't sure if this was supposed to be a compliment or not, so she decided to remain silent. "But, I suppose I've complimented you enough – time to get to business."

Her stomach was in knots.

"It's come to our attention," he motioned around the room – apparently everyone here knew whatever it was he was going to say – Belle could only guess, "that you've been hearing things."

"Things?" Belle echoed, finally finding her voice in her throat. "I – I don't know what you're talking about." She gulped, and Mr. Lattantio chuckled, shaking his head. The extra skin at his jowls shook with him and Belle had to suppress her shudders.

Shifting in his seat, the chair groaned under his weight, the wood accommodating even the slightest movement. "Bunny, don't be ridiculous. You wouldn't have sought protection if you didn't hear something."

Her heart thumped in her chest. She had to lie. It wasn't just herself she was protecting. "I haven't talked to anyone," Belle replied hastily. It seemed everyone in the room was inclined to laugh at her, however, and low chuckles bubbled up from every corner.

It was Marco's turn to speak up. "No need to lie, Bunny Belle. I'm at the club just as much as you are," is father's look was only slightly reproachful, and only for a moment before he turned his eyes back on Belle, "everyone knows you went to Gold."

Belle couldn't let herself react. It could have been a bluff.

She didn't know how these men acted, but she'd seen enough movies to guess. But, there was the matter of the car, and Hongrois – and she had gotten in without a second thought. Maybe they did know. She sealed her lips, everyone in the room shifting uncomfortably.

"I don't think you understand just how… serious this situation is," Mr. Lattantio pressed, leaning forward, as though she was not smart enough to understand what he was saying without him getting closer, and louder, and slower. "You've upset some very powerful people, Bunny."

Not for the first time, Belle's mouth moved before her mind, and she managed to shock whoever Glass was, behind her, and Marco when she commented, "I don't see how I've upset anyone. I'm the one who was driven out in the middle of the night to be threatened."

When one was cornered, without an option of escape, and better judgment isn't getting them anywhere, sometimes a person says something not quite so smart. Belle's mouth would have inevitably gotten her in trouble here too, and she felt a hand tangled in her hair before she actually registered that anyone had moved. The hand twisted, her hair pulled, and Belle yelped with the force exerted on her. "I suggest you think about what you say," he growled in her ear.

"Down, Glass," the boss behind the desk commanded, and like a loyal lap dog, her hair was released and the sudden freedom was both liberating and painful. She could still feel the throb from the harsh pull and no one in the room spoke as she regained her footing. "A guest should mind her manners," Lattantio chided her, and Belle bit the inside of her lip.

With an exasperated sigh, he continued. "There's no need to prolong this, Sweetheart." Belle grimaced at the nickname, she didn't want this man calling her anything, let alone some kind of pet name, "We know you've been going home with Gold, we know he's been picking you up and dropping you off. And whatever little love story you've crafted for yourself," he waved his hand, cutting her off when she went to open her mouth, "But you see, Bunny, I can't have you in the way."

"Gold has been working with my family for twenty years. Almost longer than you've been alive," the comment was off hand, but she could see the way Marco's shoulders shifted and his smile dimmed, "and that relationship is very important to us."

It didn't seem like there was much to do with her here, and Belle licked her lips. "No disrespect sir," her eyes flicked around the room, "but what does that have to do with me?"

"Getting there, Bunny," his voice was curt - Belle had interrupted again and he wasn't happy about it. At least Glass wasn't at the back of her head pulling at her. She was at least happy for that. "You overheard my idi- my son," he appeared to cut himself off, and Marco seemed more than a little ready to jump forward and defend himself in the case of whatever was intended to be communicated, "and his associates discussing something. Something that you overheard."

Now Belle knew what was going on, and she couldn't believe it was coming back – and how poorly the universe was treating her currently – this evening was a tangle of really unfortunate interactions. "I didn't hear -"

"Bunny!" he snarled, "It's pointless to argue. What you need to know is we are watching. We know you're involved, and I don't know how clear I can make this," he pushed his chair back and stood for the first time. He wasn't particularly tall, nor was he particularly built, but she knew he was powerful, and she knew it was not his physical power that was so threatening.

He didn't even have to rush toward her. He took his time, crossing the rug with his fine Italian shoes, pressed black suit that did not make him look at all sharp, but merely menacing in ways she could not pinpoint. "Now, take it from me, I don't do this often, but," he looked her up and down, leering at her in a way that made Belle's stomach clench, "it'd be such a shame to lose you."

He reached up and touched her hair, brushing his hand against her cheek and Belle felt as though she might vomit. "What do you want me to do?" the question burned in her throat, a fear gripping her of the answers she couldn't even dream that she'd be given. Be brave, she reminded herself, it was the only option.

"Leave him alone, Bunny. Our… indispensables don't need such pretty little distractions running around. You certainly have no idea who you are playing around with. And little girls who play with things they don't understand – well," he laughed, low and dark at her, meeting her crystal blue eyes with his sharp, dark ones. His hand left her hand and took a sharp turn to the underside of her chin. His sausage fingers dug into the muscles and bones of her jaw and Belle winced, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes from the pain of his nails in her skin, "they end up dead."

Roughly shoving her away, turning her head and neck with the force of a push, Lattantio sneered at her momentarily and then looked around the room. "I've got no use for her anymore. Take her back, Glass."

* * *

**A/N 2.0:** Lattantio is from an Italian fairy tale called, "Maestro Lattantio and His Apprentice Dionigi." It's another version of "The Thief and his Master." I thought it was an appropriate usage!


	14. XIV

A/N: FINALLY HERE! Thanks to everyone for being so patient! I started a new job this August and life is crazy, so I write whenever I can/when I get inspiration, so I finally pumped it out! Have a great read, and again, thanks for being so patient and wonderful!

* * *

The drive back was silent.

Belle did not venture to speak and neither did her current chauffer. They didn't have anything to say to one another. Belle knew he didn't have any power, none that really mattered, anyway. He was a lackey, sent to do the bidding of the hand that fed him, and she was at their mercy – perhaps even more than he was.

She wasn't going to start sympathizing with him, of course, she didn't feel bad – obviously he was going to get out of this alive before she did – barring any egregious errors, but Belle couldn't see the point in feeling bad for someone who had gone to the painstaking task of acquiring the same exact car as Gold just to drag her to the middle of nowhere where a mobster threatened her.

She also doubted that one with such attention to detail was going to make any mistakes in bringing her home either.

Belle could dream, of course. She could wish he'd crash the car and she'd be able to escape and run. She could even wish he'd drive into the river after he dropped her off – then she'd be able to play it off like her own doing. Pretend to send a message back. No one would question the girl who escaped from a sinking car and didn't save the man who was driving.

It was all fantasy though, and Belle couldn't decide to ignore reality. It was going to exist whether she wanted it to or not. The message was simple: avoid Gold. Don't distract him. If you do, you are going to get hurt.

Her first instinct was to do exactly what they asked. As they neared the city, the buildings standing in stark, lit contrast to the dark sky, the weary and exhausted bunny knew what was in store if she didn't listen. She wasn't only looking out for herself. Belle wasn't stupid. They would stop at nothing, and killing her wasn't the first solution they'd go to. It was the easiest, to be sure, but it didn't make her useful. Her loved ones were first: her father, her friends – everyone.

Being absolutely exhausted and petrified wasn't helping. When the car finally pulled to a rolling stop in front of her building – no directions required – they knew where she lived, Belle was gruffly told to get the hell out and remember what she was told. If she weren't half convinced it would get her killed, she'd have pointed out that it wouldn't exactly be the easiest thing to forget.

The car rolled away, taking all of the light with it, leaving Belle standing cold and alone on the middle of sidewalk just before the sun was scheduled to rise. If she didn't feel so overwhelmed to the point of numbness, she might have cried. Instead, she stared straight ahead as her tired legs carried her to the door and her hands unlocked the door, then climbed and climbed to their floor.

She didn't even make it to her bedroom.

It was nearly four in the afternoon when Belle was jolted out of sleep by the shrill trilling of the telephone's bell. Scrambling, all knees and elbows, across the room, Belle breathlessly grabbed the receiver and held it to her ear, sputtering out a confused, "Hello?" as she tried to catch her breath.

The line crackled – whoever was calling wasn't doing it from a home phone – pay phone, most likely – and there was a delay in the answer. "Where are you?" It took Belle several blinks and a couple of head shakes to realize who the voice belonged to. Regina.

Babbling incoherently, Belle coughed – trying to clear her throat and give herself a moment. "Regina! I – I'm sick today!" she lied immediately, scrunching up her face in embarrassment – that was the worst lie she had told to date. Poorly done.

But, now she had no choice. Belle had to go with it. The tense silence on the other end was almost tangible. "You have a shift."

Time to act. Belle immediately lowered her voice, trying to insert any gravel worn sound that she could into her speaking voice, and groaned a little. "I know – I meant to call, but I've been sick to my stomach all day whenever I tried to pick up the phone…" and she did the most obscene thing she could think of: burp on command.

The action itself actually aided in making Belle legitimately queasy. She put a hand on her stomach and waited, holding her breath, for Regina's reply.

"You haven't been yourself, Bunny Belle," she commented. Regina didn't just make idle comments.

"Well, I think I've been coming down with this for a couple days," Belle continued the lie. She needed to deflect. It was bad enough this was a lie, there were so many other things she had done that could easily get her fired much more quickly than faking a sick night. Hell, one of the other girls would definitely want the extra shift. Regina wouldn't have trouble filling it.

"Take the night. But I'm docking the day out of your salary, and you know the rules. Twenty-five dollar fine for being late is still going to apply, since you failed to call." All business, Regina.

And Belle had to sigh with relief, even though that twenty five dollars was going to hurt on top of missing a shift. At least it wasn't fifty for taking the suit home on top of not going in. Belle rubbed her forehead with her free hand. "I understand," she purposefully weakened her voice, though not as much as if she was lying under normal circumstances.

"You know, Bunny," Regina added, a strange lightness in her voice, "take two nights. Don't need you passing on whatever it is you've contracted to any of the other girls."

Belle opened her mouth to reply, but the dial tone met her voice. Regina hung up on her!

She put the receiver down and leaned her head back, letting out a long, strangled groan of frustration. Two days? Regina wasn't pleased – and what would she do for two days? She supposed, as she sagged back into the cushions of the threadbare couch, that she could – and would – start with sleeping.

Unfortunately, as much as Belle wished to sleep, when she dragged herself to her room and crawled into the double bed, it was cold and uncomfortable. She closed her eyes, but couldn't manage to let herself relax. She had lied to Regina, was stuck in this dingy excuse for a home for two days, and couldn't contact Gold – or anyone, really. The girls would know she was lying. And if she got caught talking to Gold…

Vivid memories of the way the men looked at her, the dull throb that was still occurring in her now lightly bruised wrist kept her from achieving even a light doze, what with all of the tossing.

She felt trapped – like a prisoner in her own home – restless and afraid. And not for the first time, she wished she could tell her father all about what was going on in her life. But, he wasn't here – Omaha seemed like an unthinkable distance, and he wouldn't want to know his little girl was a living fantasy, fooling around with lawyers, running into the mob, and putting them both – and others – in danger.

He'd already lost her mother, and that had almost killed him. Belle didn't need to put another nail in his coffin – he wasn't getting any younger, after all.

She pushed herself out of her bed and sighed, walking back to the living room – looking at the black phone with the keypad. It was begging her to call. She needed to do it. She reached into the end table drawer and pulled out the little cards with numbers on them.

It was hard enough, looking for it, but actually dialing her uncle's number… her heart stopped every time she heard the ring on the other end in her ear, holding her breath and counting – three, four, five rings – ready to hang up – until the ringing stop and "Hello?" greeted her.

"Dad?" Belle's voice quivered, feeling suddenly very much like the little girl who would call him at the shop from the neighbor's apartment when she got home from school and not the adult who was living a hundred different lives all at the same time.

A throaty chuckle sounded on the other end. Belle wrapped the phone cord around her fingers, biting her lip as her uncle's voice even sounded like a smile. "Belle! It's good to hear from you, Sprout," she cringed because she knew he was grinning as he used her childhood pet name. "Your dad is out back on the porch. I'll get him."

She sighed. "Thanks, Uncle Moe." Her grandparents hadn't been especially clever – Maurice, their older son, and Moe the younger. And she heard the receiver hit the counter top or table and steps grow fainter and fainter as they moved away. She thought she could even hear the creak of the hinges on the door in the background.

Belle's heart was thumping in her chest. She had no reason to be afraid of her father answering, she wasn't going to tell him anything that would wreck his heart or make him run home right in the path of whatever it was that was going on.

When she heard someone fumbling with the receiver, Belle's heart rate increased – if that were possible, and the corners of her eyes prickled with tears that she didn't even know were there. "Sweetheart?"

Belle couldn't breathe for a moment. It was just so overwhelming to hear a voice that was so removed from everything. "Hi, Daddy," she breathed, unable to stop smiling from ear to ear.

"I didn't expect to hear from you," she could practically hear him smiling too. They were the only people the other had – for sure, forever. It felt like ages since Belle had talked to her father, and she laughed, shrugging her shoulders to adjust the black receiver against her already hot ear.

"I didn't expect to call – but I had the day off," another lie. "How are you?" that was sincere, at the very least, and Belle leaned further into the phone, as though she could get physically closer to her father by doing so.

There were noises in the background; the phone must have been in the kitchen and Aunt Patty must have been fixing food. It was around dinner time. "It's been good. Your Uncle Moe got me a job at his shop while I'm here. How are you?" the tone of his voice changed, and Belle's throat hitched.

It was hard to be away from her dad, and apparently it was hard for him too. "I've been busy," if that weren't the truth, she wouldn't know what was. And no matter how much she wanted her dad home with her, Belle wasn't going to let him. "I just wanted to let you know the apartment isn't done yet, unfortunately."

"Not done? What's wrong with it?" his voice was nervous. They didn't have extra money, Belle knew that - and she needed an excuse, a good one. It seemed it was all she was good for recently, excuses.

"While they were fumigating, apparently they found problems with the pipes. Don't worry, it's a building expense – just… we can't come home for a while." They both sighed at the same time, a habit she picked up and one they both used when they were disappointed. She tried to smile. "At least you get to spend more time with Uncle Moe. Aunt Patty, and little Phil?" However optimistic she wished to sound, it wasn't' going to fool him.

The silence between them lingered. It wasn't entirely uncomfortable, but Belle knew neither of them knew what to say. "That's true," he agreed half-heartedly and Belle could hear him shift his weight from one side to the other, standing uncomfortably. "You know, Philip is more and more like you every day," he informed her, "he's 13 now."

"Make sure you bring home pictures," Belle smiled weakly, imagining the cousin she only distantly remembered running around with a wooden sword in his pajamas, pretending to slay dragons now a 13 year old boy. Shaking her head, she took a deep breath through her nose and exhaled lightly. "Well, I better let you go."

"Yea, I guess so," as half-hearted as it came, and it broke her heart. She didn't know when, specifically during their stilted conversation she had started to cry, but there were certainly silent tears trickling down her cheeks now. "Take care of yourself sweetheart. You're still staying with that Ruby girl and her grandmother, right?"

If only. "Yes," she lied again. "They're really understanding, and before you ask – I've been contributing, don't worry." It almost didn't sink in that lying had become so easy until she heard her dad chuckle softly – believing her.

She had always been so trustworthy. What happened? Oh, right – just about everything had changed in her entire life in a matter of weeks. "Be good, Sprout, and…" she heard him clear his throat, choked up too. Maurice French wasn't one for feelings, he had never really got the hang of it, even when she was a little kid, and he had to explain about mom, and things were just a little too hard for everyone involved. "I miss you."

Belle covered her mouth with her hand, muffling her desire to sob and run – straight to Omaha and live with her family, be with them and forget everything. "I miss you too, Daddy," she tried not to let him hear how her voice broke in the second syllable, "tell everyone else I say hello, and miss them too."

"I will, Sprout. Call when you have time," he sounded hopeful.

Belle couldn't disappoint him. "I'll call, Dad. Don't worry. I will talk to you later."

"Bye Sprout." She hurried with her goodbye and hung up the phone.

Bowing her head, Belle rubbed her eyes, pushing the wetness off of her cheeks and tried to calm herself. Her father was happy; he was with their family and safe. Even if they weren't together - he was safe. That's what mattered. She just had to keep reminding herself of that fact – she missed him terribly, wanted him with her, as though he could protect her, but the truth of the matter was, she couldn't protect him by doing anything other than keeping him away.

Belle had never felt more alone in her entire life.

She pushed herself off the couch and felt as though she was crawling back into her dark bedroom, diving beneath the covers to try and push the weight of life away for a while. She was conflicted though, her father hadn't kept any alcohol in the house. It might have been that much easier to forget, but then again, her mind jumped to the evening she blocked Gold from the cabinet. It was the easy way out – a temporary escape. She wouldn't do it.

Though, her mind countered, indicating that pulling the covers over her head as she was doing now wasn't really about to solve a problem either. But, at the very least, in the dark confines of her bed, she could think.

It was a laborious task, thinking. Her head hurt with a lack of possibility. Perhaps she would leave. She could go to Omaha. It wouldn't be so bad, and demons didn't fly that far out of the city. The thought, at the very least, cleared her mind enough to fall asleep once again – body and mind weary as though she had not slept properly in years.

The deadness of sleep, a complete lack of feeling and dreamlessness soothed her in ways she could not fully know until she woke up the next morning before the sun even had a chance to peek over the tops of buildings, refreshed and light for at least a little while.

Until she realized that she was still stuck in her apartment, with no contact in the outside world, and putting her friends and family in danger by the very nature of being here. Up in her apartment, alone and overlooking the world from shaded windows, however, she couldn't hurt anyone.

So, she stayed. There was no food in the cabinets, but Belle didn't feel much like eating, much less preparing it. Even reading, there was a certain listlessness that accompanied it, and even though she knew she was reading pages, it seemed like every time she flipped the page she forgot what was on the page before.

It was impossible to concentrate.

She couldn't even switch on the tiny, black and white television in the living room without just finding the noise grating, an inefficient way to annoy herself. She looked at the clock, wondering what the girls were doing – if they even gave a thought to her being away from the club.

Her mind couldn't help but wander to Gold as well. Did he even notice she hadn't been there? Would he have even gone back after he stormed off without even letting her have half of a say in it? Her chest clenched at the thought. Logically, she was aware he wasn't going to give a second thought to her. Whatever he had been told, it wasn't as though he had feelings for her beyond their brief stunt cohabitating, and even then most of it was as simple and shouldn't have made her chest hurt every time she thought about him.

But, he made her knees weak, and no matter how he infuriated her, even in such a short time, Belle wanted nothing more than to reach out to him – let him know. It felt like he was the only one she didn't have to protect. She could tell him everything, and he was indispensable, they'd never hurt him.

Belle flopped on the couch, eyes closed, with fists balled over her face. A frustrated half-scream, half-groan ripped in her throat and she just wanted to know what to do. She wanted to stop caring, and she wanted to be able to follow their directions without feeling like she might vomit every time she realized she could never speak with him again.

Being alone wasn't helping. Hiding wasn't helping. She had to get out. With a new fervor, Belle jumped up from the couch and started to get ready. She'd go somewhere – anywhere – to just clear her head while she could.

She bathed and primped, put on a dress that wasn't threadbare and even slipped on her kitten heels. Make-up was done, curls prepared, everything set like there was nothing amiss. Belle could pretend, even for a short while.

Wrapping herself in her coat, Belle grabbed her keys and bag, exiting the dingy apartment and locking the door behind her. She already felt lighter, freer, and as she went down the stairs two at a time, the feeling grew less and less oppressive.

She should have done this earlier, truth be told, but she was so busy worrying and thinking and crying that she hadn't even thought of it. When she stepped out onto the sidewalk, it was like she was leaving the rock and hard place behind, even for a small while – and Belle knew where she was going to go.

It didn't take long to get to the public library.

Belle was always willing to disappear behind tall stacks and in dark corners for hours, completely alone but totally surrounded by great minds, great ideas. She didn't have much time, in her regular day to day to explore the seemingly endless reserve of books.

Once upon a time, she might have considered a place like the library to be destiny. A sort of undeniable end point – what else did a bookish young lady do, but work in a library? For a moment, as she walked through, cardigan buttoned and heels clicking lightly against the marble floor, she pretended that it was her space, like she knew every inch by heart and each book in turn, from vague acquaintance to dearest, oldest friend.

In the fiction section, Belle ran her hand down the spines of a row of books, not really looking at the titles, just feeling – maybe deciding based on feeling along what she might pull out to read.

Standing in front of the section, Belle let out a deep breath through her nose, soaking in the smell of aged books, which was oddly comforting, even with the tinge of dampness that always seemed to linger in darker places. It was one of the most comforting smells in the world.

Maybe outside of Gold's cologne. Belle sighed, almost getting a fresh whiff of the so utterly masculine scent. Leaning her forehead against the stack, she closed her eyes. Her imagination was too strong, and imagining him, imagining his smell, she could almost hear the sound of his uneven gait – not that you could really hear it anywhere except where it was truly quiet. For a man with a limp and a cane, he moved as stealthily as a cat.

Belle sighed. Men were so hard to forget, men like Gold nearly impossible. And worse, as the one thing she couldn't have – the one forbidden thing in her life, she really, truly couldn't get him off of her mind.

"You seem in distress." Belle almost jumped out of her skin, smacking her head against a bookshelf and clutching onto the stack. She turned quickly, afraid she had imagined that too – that she was losing her mind.

But, when she did whirl around, her breath left her. Standing there, in his dark suit, even with a glowering expression on his face, Belle felt a sudden tinge of elation, mixed with irritation. "I'm not in distress," she immediately countered, back pressed against the books. It was a small comfort, that and she knew no one could sneak up behind her again.

He didn't move at all, just stared at her – unnerving as anything, and Belle frowned. "You look troubled. Sound troubled."

Belle did everything in her power to stop from snorting. "I don't want to know why you're here – if it's some coincidence, though I doubt it," she had enough respect for the library to at least hiss quietly, "or you had Hongrois follow me and alert you of where I am, seems more likely," she had to point out, "but you have no right to sneak up on me."

"I just came to talk." It seemed so simple coming from his mouth – as though it was really just a matter of talking.

Belle rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Absolutely not," she stamped her foot (lightly – not too much sound) for emphasis. "You don't get to talk to me after how you treated me." You don't get to put yourself or my friends and family in danger either, she added internally. It seemed, however, to be much less of a striking point, as his shoulders hunched in reaction to her assertion that he had done wrong by his actions in the club.

It served him right if he felt bad at all. "I know you don't owe me anything -"

"That's right," Belle cut him off, her eyes searching the surrounding area, just in case someone was watching, knowing very keenly it could be someone much worse than a strict librarian coming to hush them. "Look," she narrowed her eyes at Mr. Gold, clearly shut up by her sudden and sharp comments, "we can't talk here."

He blinked, perhaps really only truly shocked by what just came out of her mouth. "My dear, we might have to be quiet, but we're hardly in a place where we can't speak," he pointed out, almost incredulous.

Belle shook her head – he didn't, probably wouldn't, understand until they were somewhere safe – private. "You're going to have to trust me," she shrugged. "If you want to talk that badly, it can't be here."

Mr. Gold didn't even bother to pretend to hesitate. "Where then?"

Biting on the inside of her cheek, Belle let out a deep breath. "The club. Tomorrow night." He opened his mouth, she assumed to protest, but Belle waved her hand, practically wiping the sound of his throat. "Just trust me."

A moment of silence passed between them, "I will have to." Belle nodded and Gold seemed to understand. He turned and started to walk away, glancing back over his shoulder as he did. Belle half-heartedly glared at him and he turned away, not looking at her again as he limped out of the aisle.

It was only as he was gone that Belle realized her heart was practically beating out of her chest. She could hear her blood rushing in her ears. She'd have to speak with him tomorrow.

She needed a plan – and only half of one was formed in the deep, recesses of her brain as of yet. Twenty four hours would not even be long enough.


	15. XV

**A/N:** Hi everyone! Thank you so much for all of your reviews and comments! I also thank you for being patient with me - I really only have weekend time to write extensively, and I really hope that it's paying off. I hope you all like this installment and I am going to try and get the next part out soon (especially with Thanksgiving time). Thanks again! Enjoy!

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Belle barely slept that night.

After going home, she contemplated what she had said and realized how crazy it actually was. She was going to be meeting him at the very place everyone who wanted to destroy her congregated in one place. But, it wouldn't seem strange for them to speak under the circumstances of the Playboy Club. That was what she thought, wasn't it?

But, as she twisted and turned in her bed, Belle couldn't help but wonder if maybe it was her turn to be a coward. Had she picked the Club for its practical purposes of avoiding wandering eyes, or did she use it as a way to avoid confrontation and protect him and herself? It was around two in the morning that she decided it would have to be a bit of both. She resented thinking of herself as a coward, but couldn't help but entertain the honesty of it.

She was scared. She was more scared than she had ever been, not only for herself, but for everyone. She had always been willing to throw herself to the wolves if it meant protecting those she loved. Her family, friends, and even one-time lover were all under her umbrella of protection now. By agreeing to meet with Gold, by making that choice, she was putting them all in danger.

Belle could only hope that it was worth it.

Remembering the way Gold treated her, listening to her, taking care of her, paying attention to her – instead of just using her as an accessory to his life (thankfully he had no option of doing so), she enjoyed that. She liked spending time with him. Even if they argued quite a bit, even if she threw her pictures in his face, he told her she was better than that – was vehemently aware of it. No one with power, with a place in life, had ever told Belle she had the capacity to make her own place.

He believed in her, and when he said it, Belle trusted him, which meant more than any old little encouragement from anybody else. She had grown accustomed to his face, to his mannerisms, and even the taste of cigarettes and whiskey after a long, deep kiss. All of it had become something that, when she realized the anticipation of, her stomach twisted uncomfortably and she would find herself smiling in the stupidest ways.

It wasn't as though she was in love with him, no – she didn't know him well enough for that, but she could have been. Had things been different, she could have. She certainly loved little things about him – like the whiskey taste and sardonic humor.

Those thoughts delayed sleep for another two hours, and only when Belle's eyelids were actually too heavy to keep open did she finally fall into a restless sleep.

Waking up couldn't have been any harder, after turning all night and having nightmares she couldn't remember, all of which shook her from the confines of sleep and sent her once flying out of the bed and the second time smacking her hand on the night table in a desperate attempt to find the alarm clock, groaning as it read 6:15 AM. It wasn't slotted to go off for another hour.

Belle had turned over in her bed, buried her face in her pillow, and let out a muffled scream into the downy folds, her fingers clutched around the fabric pillowcase. It wasn't even worth trying to get the extra hour. She pushed herself out of bed and started to prepare herself. It was going to be a very long day.

Everything had to be perfect. Belle would settle for nothing less, and she knew if she came in less than her best there would be questions. She'd already been gone for several days. It wouldn't do her any favors to look out of sorts upon return. So, Belle attended to herself with the care and attention to detail that she didn't even normally give herself.

She showered and primped, hours spent moving between her hair and her make-up, seamlessly drying and curling, painting and polishing. Belle had impressions to make and people to impress. Regina would be watching, the other girls would be watching, the outfit would have their eyes glued to her. Gold would be watching.

The thought sent a shiver down her spine, goose pimples puckering every inch of her skin. He'd be staring so intently – she'd feel his eyes on her wherever she went, on her back, following her footfalls, the extension of her arm as she placed any and every drink she served on a table. She'd noticed it before, but the thought of it had never weighed quite so heavily on her as it did in this instance. She had to remind herself to breathe to keep her hands steady as she applied her eye make-up, rimming her icy blue eyes with dark black, wings edging out to the sides as was the style.

She only stopped herself to pick at some toast, and even then, she had no stomach for it, returning to her preparatory work with the hands of an artist but the nervous, twisting stomach of a schoolgirl on the eve of a life defining test. If only if were that easy, Belle had to laugh to herself, putting the final touches on her entire look.

It didn't matter what dress she wore, it wouldn't make its way to the floor, but that didn't stop her from picking her best – a yellow dress, not quite buttercup, just a little darker, fitted at the waist with a grey sash to tie. It might not have been glamorous like any of Regina's wiggle dresses, the kinds that hugged in all of the right places and didn't hide a thing from view, but it was something Belle treasured.

She slipped it on with her stockings and her flat shoes, grabbing her coat as well. She would be just a little bit early, but it was better to be early than late. Regina might actually be happy to have her there early – if only to use her as a whipping post before the others. She knew she could not have been anyone's favorite at the moment. It didn't matter though, she was going.

Leaving the apartment behind, the door locked, Belle scurried out of the building without hesitation. It was time to be swift, decisive, and without fear. Belle was surprisingly good at rising to the occasion. Her feet clicked on the sidewalk, she carried her chin high, and anyone who seemed to be paying her mind received a smile of greeting. It was brisk, but not unbearable, and Belle could almost forget that she was walking to a place like the Playboy Club. She could have if she hadn't arrived so quickly.

The building stood tall in front of her, stark against the rest of the city. She took a deep breath, her pace faltering only for a couple of steps. Though it had only been two days, it seemed like an eternity since she had stepped through its doors. An eternity's worth of life had happened in that span of time, leaving Belle at this moment, so close to this place but so very removed from it at the same time.

She stopped in front of the doors for a moment, looking upward toward the higher floors, wondering just what would become of this place – and would it be standing long after she no longer could? She guessed yes, what was hidden inside was timeless, a fantasy that stretched as far back as the earliest civilizations and didn't seem to be going away. Belle was just a little piece of it, and the Playboy Club was too.

With that bit of thought behind her, Belle pushed open the doors and walked in, slinking up the stairs. All the lights were up still, the chairs were resting on table tops – it looked more like a restaurant than the Club. No one seemed to be around, at least not on the floor, and Belle slowly crept through the space, her eyes darting back and forth as she did. She hoped she might make it to the dressing room without encountering Regina – or anyone else for that matter.

She slipped through the tables and chairs, toward the entrance to backstage, the light dimming as the usually unattended (by patrons, anyhow) corner was in sight. She changed her path, making a straight line toward it.

She slipped through the door, through the hallway with the payphones, and past the kitchen door – a host of bustling activity going on inside – that must have been the source of the lights on in the rest of the club. The dressing room was completely empty, however.

The entire room was dark. Through the pinch of light coming in from the tinted windows, Belle could see each of the stations was clean and clear. It was silent, not even whispered conversations and rustling fabric. Belle stood completely alone in the doorway, sidling sideways to turn on the light with a heavy sigh. She would be ready first, she supposed.

All the suits were hung up in a neat order, Yaga's alphabetical system, and Belle easily flipped to French. Her gold suit was pressed and ready to go – perhaps a cruel reminded put forth by Regina, she could see that being her course of action. The woman might not know what was going on in its entirety, but she wasn't stupid. Belle just had to figure she knew something – and if she had any part in this…

Taking the suit off the hanger, Belle shook her head. She was being paranoid. If Regina knew anything she wouldn't still have this job. She'd be out and desperate, probably without some of the pressing problems in her life right now. She doubted homelessness or moving in with her family in Omaha would be situations she'd like any more than this one.

Belle peeled off her dress, neatly folding it to put on the hanger – she'd exchange her clothes back at the end of the night – and tugged on her suit. The fabric strained and Belle grunted rather indelicately, tugging hard against its opposing force. "For God's sake," she muttered to herself, breathing deeply, sucking in as much air as she could to hold her breath before she sucked her stomach in, attempting to pull again – cursing her hips in the process.

She exhaled taking a break from the pull and wondered what was different about these darn costumes. She hadn't ever had trouble before. She was about to start pulling again when she heard a voice from behind, "Here, let me help."

"Ruby," Belle sighed in relief as her heart thumped in her chest. She would have panicked if she didn't realize that it was Ruby's voice. She had anticipated Regina, to be honest. "You practically gave me a heart attack."

Her friend laughed slightly as she took the corners of the corset from her and tugged at what would have felt like opposing angles to Belle, but the whole thing went up in a flash. "Regina had some alterations done yesterday," she explained after the initial tug – Belle already feeling the extra boning in the rib cage. "Where have you been?" the zipper went up quickly, and pinched Belle unexpectedly.

When she turned around to thank Ruby, she was not smiling. The taller young woman was not amused at all. Belle's voice faltered, shrinking under the hurt and disappointment in Ruby's face. She wasn't mad, Belle could see that, but it didn't make it any easier to search the back of her mind and remind herself what she actually told Regina. "I was sick."

Ruby balked at her. Belle sudden felt her cheeks erupt in heat and her eyes darted away from her. "You don't have to lie to me," Ruby asserted, "I trusted you with my secret. What is going on? You had me – M&M, Ashley – even Tia – worried sick."

Guilt washed over her in one thick wave. She hadn't really thought much of the girls or what they would think. "I thought Regina would have told you," her excuse was a lame one, she knew it, but it was the best she had with a sheepish shrug of her shoulders.

"Oh, she told us," Ruby countered, a sharper edge to her already agitated voice, "but if you thinking for a moment that I actually believed it, you're crazy." Ruby had that uncanny ability to see right through things, and Belle was helpless against the accusations. Her shoulders dropped – and she would have totally slumped if not for the corset keeping her back straight – a blessing and a curse rolled into satin fabric. "You can trust me, Belle. I'm great with secrets – obviously. And, more importantly, you're my friend. If something is wrong, you shouldn't have to deal with it alone."

This was not something Belle wanted to share though, and if she did, she'd just be putting Ruby in the line of fire: literally or figuratively, it didn't matter. "It's nothing, Ruby." She implored her with a baleful expression.

Silence passed between them, and Ruby looked more hurt than she did before. Belle didn't like that, but she didn't mean to hurt her friend. "When you decide you want to tell me, you can. Until then, Belle, I really hope whatever is going on is something you can handle by yourself."

For the first time Belle ever witnessed, Ruby walked past her and with a silent sort of dignity raised her chin. Belle felt wretched. She sat down at her station and pulled out her make-up to do a bit of a touch up. Though, honestly, she didn't need it. She just needed something to occupy her hands.

Turned out it worked, poking and prodding at her eyeliner, re-applying lipstick, inane tasks to complete as the bunnies started to file in. Of course, each girl gave their greeting to Belle – the ones she did not care so much about a passing hello and glad she is better. But her friends, they embraced her; wished her well, and told her how scared they were that she didn't call. Each one drove the wedge a little deeper into her heart.

Ruby did her best to keep herself calm, but Belle could see every time one of the girls came up to her, every time Belle clung to her lie a little tighter, she shook her head just a little more. Belle didn't like disappointing her, but it seemed inevitable.

The chattering continued around her, the room filling. People tugging on their costumes, laughing as they turned on a radio and Ike and Tina Turner filled the room. They had performed at the club themselves – if Belle weren't in such a mood she might have been tickled that they were on the radio when she had served drinks only feet from them. But, Belle was something of an actress, and she pretended with the rest of them, even venturing to stand and dance a little, laughing without really feeling it.

It was easier to pretend than explain away, and sick seemed to work for most. Belle just had to hope it would hold out – that she could carry herself through the evening, and she even feigned fatigue during a commercial break! It was going to work.

They seemed to be doing everything right, at least until Regina entered the room. Everyone's stocking'd feet stopped dancing and all heads turned to face the entry way. Regina had never looked more sinister. Belle had never seen her in a dress the color of red wine with black lace draped all over it. Her hair piece had a small, black mesh veil that partially obscured her eyes, and her make-up was stark – black eyes and big, blood red lips. She looked absolutely deadly.

"Ladies, aren't we glad to have Bunny Belle back?" she smiled, her words slithered out of her mouth like an oily snack. It made shivers run down her spine as a series of ascent laden mutters permeated the room. "Now, tonight – like any other night – is going to be busy. Let's support our fellow bunnies. And," her venom smile widened, "remind ourselves of a couple of rules, shall we?"

The girls looked between each other, confused and Regina clicked her tongue on the roof of her mouth. "Oh Ladies," false sympathy colored each word, "No gum chewing – no drinking on the floor, no eating either for that matter." She cast a pointed look at Tia, who sniffed indignantly at the assertion. "Also, remember our rules for breaks – you get one every four hours – fifteen minutes each. Ice your feet, rest." This time she turned her eyes on Belle, and she was powerless to do anything but swallow. "And perhaps most importantly, let's remember to pay all our patrons the same attention. They do so often get jealous – and we wouldn't want to spoil the illusion."

The silence hung in the air between them, each girl very discreetly looking at the others, trying to figure out who was the one that required these reminders. Was it something she had done? Belle could only imagine which of her sins were being counted here, and if she was just being paranoid earlier, when she thought Regina couldn't possibly know anything. "Have a good evening, Bunnies. And as always, we'll be watching."

It seemed every pair of eyes in the room searched each other – wondering what on Earth Regina was talking about. Naturally, her smile grew wicked, and she laughed briskly. "Oh, did I not mention? Heff is coming into the club tonight. Enjoy!"

The chatter after Regina left the room was almost deafening. Every single bunny had something to say about it – except, well, Belle. She was happy though, with everyone worrying about Mr. Heffner they would have less time to worry about what she was doing.

Belle managed to look her peppiest, comforted by this fact to some degree, and the energy in the room helped a bit too. With everyone else's anxious excitement she was less able to dwell on her own feelings of dread about what the night had to bring and she could look at the positives, like the rest of the girls who dreamed of what this night might mean for them. Some were talking about becoming spread girls, photographed like glamorous models, or being spotted and dragged around the world as some sort of arm piece. Belle knew girls had dreams, but honestly, she didn't know if she could hinge her whole life on being seen by one person. That one person couldn't control her life – she wanted to control it herself.

The first step was to get back on the floor and avoid the scrutinizing eyes of her bunny mother, the head of Playboy itself, and the eyes of the mob. No big deal, she snorted to herself, not as though it was going to be a veritable sea of people who wanted something out of her on the floor; nothing like that, of course.

Taking a pause before she picked up her drink tray, Belle let out a deep breath. She just needed to do it. She needed to get out on the floor and be the living fantasy and herself. Bunny Belle needed to do her job.

She rolled her shoulders and readjusted the tray before she pushed through the doors. The lights were down, the boys must have put down all the chairs while the girls got ready, and there was music playing. It wasn't packed yet – it wouldn't be for a couple hours yet, but there were some people milling about – the early crowd – usually came for dinner after business hours were over. Belle was accustomed to the crowd, rather enjoyed the early evening set who actually decided they had better things to do than make passes at the Bunnies left and right.

The floor was relatively quiet; she was taking orders and going back and forth between Sean and the patrons. He was in a surprisingly good mood, and when Belle inquired, he grinned stupidly – muttering something about Ashley and a date she wouldn't forget, and Belle giggled. It didn't seem that Ashley knew anything about it yet, but when she did – she hoped she would be around to hear about it.

Unfortunately, she didn't have the time to ask for more details – the club was rapidly starting to fill up, once it got past seven there was always a line outside and the steady stream wouldn't end until much, much later in the evening.

Belle kept an eye out though – she was taking in every single person. Heff wouldn't be around until almost nine, so she couldn't get away until then, but she didn't necessarily care about that one either. All of the other bunnies were on their best behavior, walking with exaggerated swaying hips, whiplash smiles, and chests out – they were all the eyes she needed for him. She noticed Marco and his crew in their normal place, in her section, and she silently grumbled to herself, having to wait on them.

Plastering on her false smile, the bunny made her way over. She was in costume, it was a mask, and they were customers, even if Marco's father had threatened her very life. Even if the men sitting around him were watching for any mistake. "Bunny Belle!" Marco greeted as she neared, an almost feral grin on his face, "So glad to see you back -and healthy as a horse too, Regina had us worried, ain't that right boys?"

They all laughed, elbowing each other and leering at her. Belle gulped, not wanting to give them any reason to talk to Regina. She would fire her, she was certain, and these boys would have no qualms with ruining her life – hell, they were already trying to do that. "I'm glad to be back," she lied with a smile, shifting her weight from one heeled foot to the other. "So what can I get for you gentlemen this evening?"

The word gentlemen left a sour taste on her tongue, but she pushed past the bile to look as excited as she could. "Let's start with a round of scotch," Marco ordered, and one of his friends, a portlier sort with a scrappy beard leaned over and whispered something to him. Marco chuckled and the man sat back. "Willy here, well, he don't talk much," Belle raised her eyebrows, wondering where this was going. "But he offered to show you a good time." Marco lifted his hands and adjusted his cuffs, thoughtfully and slowly, letting Belle linger on the thought.

Belle laughed lightly, trying to hide her anxiety in a breathy giggle. "Oh, how sweet," she placated as she wrote down an entire order of scotches for the table, distracting herself from expectant gazes. "But, Bunnies aren't allowed to see club guests after hours," she offered, "Just so I'm clear, the usual scotch, correct?"

The table erupted into an explosion of laughter, "Sweetheart," Marco piped up, "We ain't just any old club guests." His voice cut through her. He meant business, that was for certain, and if Belle meant to stay employed – and alive – she was going to have to do what he said, the look on his face told her as much. She licked her lips and nodded.

"That maybe so," she conceded, having very little else to go on, "But rules are rules." Marco smiled, followed by the rest, and she turned away quickly, trying to suppress her shudder until she was out of sight.

"You'll see, Sweetheart," Marco's voice carried after her, sending a shiver running down her spine. He had a point. They were not ordinary guests: they didn't answer to anyone about anything, and Belle was particularly vulnerable, given her place with them.

Omaha became more and more appealing every time she glanced in their direction.

But she couldn't do that. She wouldn't. Belle wanted to face what needed to be faced, and as she approached the bar, her heart about stopped. Leaning against the polished stone, cane in one hand, a glass in the other, was Mr. Gold. She felt the weight lift off her shoulders, and actually found herself smiling genuinely that he was there – something safe to do here, she had to smile at everyone. No one had to know, however, that this was the only true one.

He looked concerned, but Belle could not approach. She had to do her job. Trying to be as subtle as possible, Belle nodded her head at him, and he nodded back – understanding that they could not speak yet. It didn't mean, however, when Belle slipped the order to Sean, she didn't take a cocktail napkin from the stack and use her pen to scribble a quick note.

She had to write quickly, her normally looped and neat handwriting scrawled over the napkin that ripped in places from the pressure of her pen. She only hoped her simple message was conveyed: Outside, Alley, 9:30 PM.

Her stomach knotted as she tried to catch his eye, twisting the napkin in her hands. She knew he was watching her, but he didn't seem to want to make eye contact, perhaps out of consideration for who might be watching but she wanted to make sure he saw what she was doing, so she ducked her head, shifted on her feet, and tried every possible almost natural looking standing position to catch his eye directly.

Several awkward head tilts later, Belle was finally able to catch his questioning gaze and she dipped her chin toward her hands, nails freshly painted a pale pink, stark against the whitness of the napkin with the little black bunny logo so carefully pressed in the corner. Immedaitely, a sense of recognition seemed to float between them and Belle slid the napkin across the bar as stealthily as she could manage.

Sean, bless him, did not seem to notice as he put the glasses on the tray with the fresh bottle that was opened and prepped for their guests. Gold, with a lightning fast hand grabbed the napkin up and stuffed it in his pocket. Belle sighed in relief, glad for his quickness and good sense. At Sean, she flashed a pleasant smile, which he returned, and she very carefully slid the tray off the counter and balanced it in her hand, trying her best not to teeter. It was heavy, but she'd been trained, she reminded herself.

Even if dread bubbled up in her chest when she returned the table, she had to keep her training in mind – always smile, always be polite, always say yes (within reason). It was taxing, but it was the job. Now that she had a time set, she just had to survive until then. And Heff would be arriving, she reminded herself, another way to sneak out of sight without notice. Even these men would be distracted.

Thankfully, they didn't have much original material as she placed each glass in front of them and started to pour. The typical comments were lacking in imagination, and Belle found those easier to ignore than the pointed directions to be at the mansion after her shift. Most girls didn't mind going – they craved invitations and reasons to go. Belle was clearly not typical in any regard, she mused as she reached across the table to pour for one of the taller young men she hadn't met before.

A yelp escaped her when her hands faltered, a sharp pain on her upper thigh that lasted for a brief moment – like a bee sting, stopped her in her tracks. The bottle of scotch missed its target entirely and a healthy sized splash found its way onto the man's pants. Belle, embarrassed beyond reason, stammered as she tried to correct her mistake, lifting the bottle and putting it on the table while also scanning for napkins. The laughter at the table from every other soul was not helping.

Standing upright, grabbing all of the napkins she could, Belle's cheeks were bright red. She caught sight of something green passing between hands and Belle balked. "What was that?" her voice squeaked out an octave higher than usual, which only increased the laughter at the table twofold.

"Harmless fun, Sweetheart," Marco interjected with a smirk. "Don't you worry your pretty little tail about it."

Belle glanced around – her eyes scanning the room, noticing that the bar was no longer occupied by Gold, and she gulped, trying to push her anger down. She wasn't anyone's to manhandle as they pleased, and certainly no one at this table had that privilege. "I won't – if you keep your paws to yourself," she scowled, damn the rules in this moment.

There was a low murmur at the table, perhaps surprised at her words, and definitely a little amused at her. There was that tone of ah 'ooo' that a group of men shared when they perceived a young woman had the audacity to stick up for herself. Marco reached up and straightened his tie, glaring daggers at her, despite his smirk. "Now, now Bunny. That doesn't sound very hospitable. Wouldn't want to have to tell the management, now would we?"

Belle had to hope that Regina would see reason if these men decided they were going to report her, but she could only walk on a rope so thin. If she took one step in the wrong direction, she'd have fallen. "Is there a problem here?" an accented voice inserted itself into the conversation.

Belle felt her cheeks lighting up with embarrassment and anxiety. Marco seemed to be enjoying this very much, and looking at her, and Gold, who seemed quite cross, he was going to have his bit of fun. "No trouble at all, Gold! The bunny here was just apologizing for being a clumsy oaf – guess they don't make 'em like they used to, eh?" he smirked.

Gold's hand tightened around his cane and he looked from the boys to Belle, her face still lit up like a boulevard during Christmas season. "See to it that you fetch more scotch, Bunny," he dismissed her in a way that made Belle feel much more comfortable about what was going on. She nodded enthusiastically, adding that she would bring back some napkins for them, and left practically running on her toes towards the bar.

Glancing over her shoulder, she watched as Gold seated himself with the rambunctious crowd and she breathed with relief for a moment. She couldn't be too relaxed – they were now connected, and they knew if they interacted. They'd notice him leaving, and they might even notice her leaving too. She'd have to wait on their table right before nine thirty.

Thankfully, the return to the table was not quite so painful as the first, a new bottle procured (on the house, Belle lied – they'd never notice, they'd be drunk enough at the end of the night to just pay it off). She was able to escape relatively unscathed, the pinched bit of flesh still throbbing as a reminder that the men at that table weren't to be trusted (as if she didn't know that already).

Despite the smarting of her mark, Belle couldn't stop doing her job, she continued around the floor with determination and an actress' face that could have rivaled Judy Garland. The clock was tick tocking along and time passed breezily when Belle could focus on something that wasn't how closely their eyes watched her when she was near or how Gold's eyes burned into her, and occasionally into the young men who stared so intently.

Even passing some of the girls on the floor, she was able to smile at them, ask if they needed anything, and even offered to switch a station with Sue if she needed it. Of course, Sue didn't want to switch when it was the big guess that Heff would be in her section – part of her cover victory, Belle was sure, and that was just as well. She didn't want that kind of attention tonight.

No, she wanted to slip out as easily as she could, and as nine thirty approached, Belle came back to her least favorite group of rowdy young men, surprised to find Gold gone. They were chatting about sudden and urgent business, and Belle pretended to be none the wiser, just checking in on their progress with the bottle and a half of scotch that was still on the table. She breathed easily, knowing it would be some hours before she was needed for anything other than an arm's length away check on the table.

And Mr. Heffner showed up right on time to help her. She had to be thankful for his appearance, and the sudden surge of girls working the floor. They wanted to be seen, they wanted to be part of it, and that meant Belle would be lost in the whole thing. She didn't even bother to join the gawking crowd in welcoming him or catching a glimpse, instead, she made a straight line toward the backstage.

Pushing through the crowd heading in the opposite direction, Belle handed off her tray to the blonde in the cotton candy pink bunny suit, Charlotte. "Break!" Belle explained at the young woman's befuddled expression and she darted into the back room, some girls sitting with their toes already in ice, some with their zippers loosened and at their stations.

Belle merely slipped off her heels in favor of her flat shoes and grabbed her coat. "Are you okay?" Mary Margaret asked, halting the application of her apple red lipstick in favor of looking at Belle with the most motherly expression she had ever seen.

"I need a bit of fresh air," she explained easily, "I'm feeling a bit flushed and it's so packed out there… Mr. Heffner arrived," This seemed to placate Mary Margaret, who nodded in understand, a sympathetic smile on her face – she really did buy the whole sick thing, trusting girl, and went back to her make-up.

Belle slinked to the back stair case that led out toward the alley. She skipped stairs, trying to go as quickly as possible, but also not thunk down the stairs either. If she were too loud someone was going to pick up on it, and that couldn't happen. The stakes were too high for that.

She tugged her coat tighter around herself and braced herself for the burst of cold air as she entered the alley way. A gust of wind whistled and blew her hair around her head, her coat flapping against her legs and Belle hissed at the sudden burst of cold. Reaching up with her free hand, she brushed her hair out of her eyes and scanned the alleyway, searching for a sign of anyone else. Her eyes jumped from shadow to shadow, attempting to discern if it was a person, an object, or an animal. Every sound made her jump.

It appeared, however, the only source of life in this alleyway was a stray cat that yowled and hissed rather horrifically when Belle took another step toward the area with the dumpster. Though she was glad for that, she felt the anxiety bubbling in her stomach. Gold was supposed to be here. She knew she left to go downstairs at exactly 9:30. She only had fifteen minutes.

Every second was precious – and ticking down.

Her knuckles turned white as she gripped harder and harder onto her coat, even biting the inside of her cheek until her mouth tasted of iron. "Where are you?" she muttered to herself, rocking on her feet, trying to keep the cold out and away from her very scantily clad body.


	16. XVI

A/N: Thanks to everyone who has reviewed and followed and favorited! It really means a lot to me, and your patience is incredible! I hope this chapter was worth the wait and you enjoy it! Cheers! :)

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She was shivering, that much was for certain, and it was dark and cold out. Moments were ticking by both too slowly and too quickly at the same time. Hypersensitive to everything going on around her, the whistles of wind made her jump out of her skin, looking for a sign of a person, or the source of the rustle of her coat around her thighs.

Only her fears motivated her imagination, footsteps of passersby who weren't even looking for the club, let alone a lone bunny in the alleyway made her heart pound in her chest. Reaching in her pocket, Belle anxiously rolled a nickel in between her fingers, letting her mind wander.

If Gold didn't come, Belle was unsure of what she was to think.

Maybe he didn't want to speak to her, maybe he thought she wasn't worth the time – they hadn't exactly parted on good terms, but still. He had seemed concerned enough, he had wanted to talk to her…

Biting her lip hard enough to taste the metallic tang of her own blood, Belle was ripped out of her thoughts by an uneven sound that didn't immediately register. Her eyes, having been glazed over, struggled to focus for a moment and she blinked rapidly, adjusting back to the dark light and shadows of the alleyway.

Before she knew it, she was pressed against the wall of the club, and breathing heavily. She closed her eyes, her heart slamming against her ribcage when she felt lips press against hers.

Blue eyes shot open and once Belle caught a glimpse of the whispy, brown-grey hair and tasted whiskey on his breath, she slumped down, her eyes closing and returning the kiss with ferocity. It appeared there had been no reason to think he didn't want to see her, especially as his hand sought her waist and squeezed at her hip, prompting Belle to grab his lapel and pull him against her. There was no art or skill behind this, just the mad dash for lips and teeth and tongues, Belle was certain she'd need to redo her face as they breathlessly parted.

"Gold?" Belle panted, running her hands down his front, as though she was checking to make sure it was really him, and he did the same, his hand travelling up from her hip, over her arm, and then her neck and finally her cheek. He nodded, leaning his forehead near her temple, breathing just as hard as she was – she was certain, even through the layers of his coat and suit, she could feel his heart thrumming as well.

He pressed a kiss to the shell of her ear, sending a tingly, shiver down her back and Belle pulled him closer, attempting to turn her head. She missed him, she realized all too quickly, and it made her stomach contract, lungs beg for air, and an overwhelming ache fill her. "Later," he breathed, "There will be time for that later," he assured her, curling strands of her hair around his gloved finger. "What's wrong, Belle?"

It instantly reminded her that yes, there was a purpose for this, and it was not just to sneak a grade school make out behind the gymnasium. Taking a deep breath, Belle got a hold of herself and closed her eyes, trying to brace herself, "They know."

A tense moment passed between them, Gold tugging slightly on her curl, as though his fist seized shut. "How do you know?"

It was at this moment, Belle was able to push him back, still gripping to his coat. "A man named Glass, he came to the club, he had a car – like yours," Gold cursed under his breath. It didn't look like he knew what to do; he stopped playing with her hair and his hand shook, looking for a place to settle. Belle tilted her head upward, meeting his eyes; "He took me to a house."

"Lattantio," Gold hissed, looking at Belle for confirmation. She nodded and he cursed again. Suddenly, he looked frantic, pulling at her waist, "Are you alright? Did he hurt you?" he practically growled – a fire of sorts behind his eyes, bright enough to see even here.

She shook her head, "Nothing terrible," she thought of the blows she endured on the way up, the names, and the threats, but it wasn't anything she couldn't handle. "I have to stay away," she reached up and touched his cheek.

Words were apparently unnecessary. Gold kissed her again, so fiercely it was like she was being claimed, marked, and Belle's knees quaked with ever sweep of his lips and swipe of his tongue. He swallowed every moan and whimper that bubbled up from the pit of her stomach, and once again, they were pressed together, barely able to breathe while they shivered from the heat of their kisses in contrast to the cold wind. "I can protect you," Gold promised, pressing heated little kisses to her jaw, her ear…

And it was seductive.

As much as his kisses, his words could weave a spell that The idea of being protected and taking her chances, that was a thought she was almost moved to agree with. But, she couldn't. She reached up, running her hands through his hair, scratching her nails against his scalp so a steady, pleased hum vibrated against her collarbone. But, she started to pull, and he looked up, glassy and confused. "Robert…" she muttered, shaking her head, "You can't."

"I can," his grip tightened on her coat, "I know them – I know they're not going to do anything to you."

"You can't know that," Belle bit her lip, trying to be strong despite him. "No one can… except them… the only way to make sure of it is to stay away." She swallowed hard; hoping he wouldn't press too hard, break down her defenses and instincts for preservation. "Robert…"

"Gold," he cut her off, potentially for the use of his first name twice, and more than likely also for disagreeing with his idea about what should be happening. "Belle, you can't believe that," he growled into her ear, "if I'm wrong, you'll have exclusive rights to an I told you so," he chuckled against her cheek, his slightly stubbly cheek rubbing against hers.

As much as she would have liked to stay and talk about this, she knew it was getting close and she'd have to go back inside to keep working. "I have to go," she whispered, reticent to pull away, and he was even less likely to give her up, hand still fisted in her coat, "Work," she implored, pressing his fingers with her own, and like a sudden spring on a lock, he let go.

"Meet me," he cleared his throat, but his voice remained husky. "Tonight – anywhere. After the club closes." It was desperate, she could see that, and Belle bit her lip. This wasn't a game, and Belle wasn't sure how much she was willing to risk.

But, maybe one risk… maybe that was tempting fate, but Belle had never let anyone else decide hers before now, and she certainly wouldn't now either. "Alright," she conceded. "But, they're probably watching both of our places…" she bit her lip, searching his face for an answer to that particular problem.

"The Sheraton-Blackstone," he said hurriedly. Belle had heard of it – exclusive, expensive… He must have sensed her anxiety because he pressed a very quick kiss to her lips, "It'll be under the name Reggie. Please, be there."

Belle nodded quickly, "Alright – just… I have to go," another quick kiss, as though she needed any more reasons to stay in this freezing cold alley. "Tonight. I'll see you there."

He nodded, letting his hand drop and Belle smiled, trying to be accommodating, but also pull away. It hurt, she wanted to stay, back pressed against the brick, hands searching frantically, hurried kisses – it was all so comforting… she could do that for hours…

Except she couldn't – not with the club waiting on her and fifteen minutes probably right about to pass. "Tonight," she echoed again, wiggling her fingers at him with a playful wave, and turned to disappear through the doorway that would lead back up to the dressing room. She was strong enough to avoid glancing back, even though she desperately wanted to, and her stomach was still flipping over itself, she ran up the stairs and away.

Belle couldn't believe that when she got back into the dressing just what time the clock read. She was so late from her break. Rushing around the dressing room, she tried to fix her hair and make-up while simultaneously slipping on her shoes. She cringed as her toes pinched, realizing that in her haste she put each shoe on the very wrong foot… And where was her tray?

Cursing to herself, she haphazardly fixed her lipstick and switched shoes – trying to move as quickly as possible. If Regina noticed, if anyone noticed, she would be in so much trouble… it was bad enough she'd been on thin ice recently anyway. Belle actually found herself cursing, something she did not actually do all that often to get back to her tray… wherever it was…

"Bunny Belle!" a shrill voice called out, apparently very cross with her.

Belle looked up and gasped. Charlotte! She had totally forgotten. She had thrown her tray at her. If her cheeks weren't already windswept and red, she'd have been blushing madly. "Bunny Charlotte, I am so, so, so sorry!" she said apologetically. Charlotte might have had friends at the club, but Belle was certainly not first on her list. This was not going to do much for their relationship.

"You left me with this," she swung the tray and sighed while rolling her eyes, "Twenty five minutes ago." Belle bit her lip, it was worse than she thought. An extra ten minutes? It was going to be her neck on the chopping block. As Charlotte got closer though, her eyebrows raised, "Pardon me, Belle, but you look like hell."

Belle blinked.

Charlotte was providing her with the best excuse ever, and she probably didn't even realize it.

Taking a very deep breath, Belle coughed, "I know," she started, "I just… I don't think I was fully recovered…" she put a hand to her stomach and forced a burp – for the second time in her life – to which Charlotte visibly cringed. She lifted the strap over her head and put the box on the counter.

Fiddling with her hands, the round-faced girl seemed to be a little contrite – a pang of guilt rumbled through Belle's stomach, but it was also an opportunity to get out of trouble, and she didn't want any more of that. "Well, I.. here you go!" she babbled, trying to stay away, and ducked out of the dressing room quite quickly after that.

Belle would have to remember that: the threat of getting sick near anyone is a powerful deterrent for anger. Taking a deep breath through her nose, Belle collected her thoughts, got her bearings and walked over to her tray, picking it up once again. The weight was significant – either Charlotte had actually restocked it, or she hadn't sold anything at all. Either was a distinct possibility.

She had a couple of more hours to endure.

When she got back out onto the floor her shoddy make-up and slightly mussed hair were easy enough to hide in the dim lights, and she was thankful that it was a club more than it was anything else, because at this rate she'd be getting no tips tonight. Particularly because she noticed Mr. Gold's booth was thusly deserted. Even Marco, of all people, had left.


	17. XVII

**A/N:** FINALLY, right?! But anyway, I wanted to say thank you to everyone who has been reading and supporting this story. I know updates are not frequent and that can be a total bummer, so I apologize, but I hope you love what I came up with and more than that, I hope you love the guest star who shows up this chapter! :) Enjoy! And thank you soooo much for reading, following, favoriting and reviewing. Everything means SO much to me!

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It was terrifying, knowing that she could get caught at any moment. She felt like maybe it was written on her face, like she had something to hide and it was only a matter of time before somebody else figured it out. She knew the girls were perceptive; they seemed to know everything and nothing about one another all at the same time. But if she kept her eyes down and to herself, that might set off even more alarms.

So, Belle had to be as typical as possible. Not a single thing could tip anyone off.

The agony of a long night was actually welcome new this time, as she returned to the floor and saw her section crammed with very eager patrons. She actually heaved a sigh of relief. It was going to be okay if she kept busy.

And that she did.

It was a veritable see of customers who were all exceptionally thirsty. Not even Sean had time at the bar to say anything except a pithy comment about how busy it was, and Belle was content to nod and smile without any genuine effort before she was forced to do the same thing at the tables.

Time passed quickly, before she knew it the club was clearing out and a familiar anxiety bubbled back up into her stomach. She knew what she wanted to do was crazy. She knew meeting him anywhere was going to end poorly, but she was doing it anyway.

There was something about him that made her want to take chances and risks she had never wanted before. For so much of her life, she'd just looked at the safe reaches – going to college, being a journalist, all of those things could happen on such a small scale. No one would even know that she was reaching beyond anything anyone ever expected for if she had achieved those things. Few would scrutinize her for it either.

But this, meeting a man with illicit connections in a hotel after being abducted… if anyone else had told her that was what they were doing; Belle might have had them committed. But she supposed, at this point, maybe it was worth it to be daring (and mildly stupid). Maybe she had found something worth the fight.

Breathing deep through her nose, Belle was ready to go. She hurried out of her gear, changed as quickly as possible. She didn't even bother to take her make-up off. Some of the girls gave her sideways glances, but she was moving too quickly and too much to actually answer any of their queries with sincerity.

Of course, her friends were going to be more pressing toward her, but even they were able to 'understand' when Belle cited her discomfort and feelings of illness. For once she was glad that her anxiety was clearly written on her face. Ashley pointed out that she did look pale, and M&M added tired, which was the perfect point for Belle to have reached.

She nodded briskly and dashed before anyone could stop her.

It was bad enough getting out, but now she needed to get the Sheraton without getting noticed or followed. A cab wasn't really going to cut it. A fistful of bills would certainly get whatever cabbie's mouth open, no matter what she told them. Money was all too alluring for some.

Belle would have to hoof it. It was a daunting task, but with her coat pulled tight around her and the collar pulled up around her cheeks, she thought she did a fairly good job at hiding her face as she hurried down the boulevards trying to avoid prying eyes.

It was nice to disappear. No one really spared her passing glances on the street, they had no reason to. She wasn't bare to their gazes like she was in the club, she wasn't expected to be cordial or flirty, she was just one person running down the street. To everyone else she didn't have a name, she didn't have a face, she probably didn't even have thoughts.

It was the strangest thing to contemplate. Knowing that everyone around a person was living their own life, but their placement adjacent to hers was so mysterious, she could not for a moment fathom what made any of them in a particular place. Were they running and surviving too? They have been. It seemed like everyone was.

It was only after a lengthy trip; complete with heavy breathing and a heavy heart that Belle was covered in a thin sheen of sweat from exertion and cold air that she stood in front of the Sheraton-Blackstone. It was just like she had heard of it: grand and intimidating.

She almost felt like she didn't even belong there. It was a world so foreign to her, full of privilege and wealth that she had never really known. She'd never stayed in hotels as a child, never straying from her home or the homes of families. Even at Northeastern, she'd lived at home to help take care of her mother and father. Staying with Robert Gold had been her first foray into luxury, and even then, outside of the gorgeous view of Chicago, his penthouse was nothing like this.

Decadence to an extreme, Belle lowered her eyes even to the doorman, not wanting to offend. He did not even notice her as he opened the door with his pressed, white gloves. A burst of warm air rushed out at her and Belle held her breath. The gateway was open, and she just had to push through.

Steeling herself, the brunette pressed forward, her first toe landing on marble ground with a click that seemed to reverberate around the entire lobby. It was empty, save for a few lingering souls, probably returning back from a night at the theatre (judging by their furs and hats) and the desk clerk. Belle paused, wondering if the sound offended, waiting for someone to shout how she did not belong and should go back to wherever it was she came from.

Much like in the street, no one paid Belle any attention at all. She was just another person walking, and that was a small comfort as she gained a little bit of confidence and started toward the front. "It'll be under the name Reggie," she remembered him whispering to her, and she balled her fists by her side, hoping that she would not falter.

The man at the desk spared a glance upward as her steps got closer. He had sharp blue eyes and a crooked smile that unsettled Belle deeply. It wasn't that she perceived he was dangerous, but he also didn't look like a hotel clerk. Well, not what she imagined anyway – she'd never really met a clerk before… but that wasn't really the point. He just looked too intelligent for what he was doing here, too aware, if that were possible.

Once she was close enough, he leaned his elbows on the counter top: his crooked smile not faltering as he tried to meet her eyes. Belle did her best to avoid him, but found herself staring directly at him anyway. He had some kind of strange pull as he moved just a little too close for comfort. "Reggie's girl, yeh?" he asked, raising his thick eyebrows at her.

Belle felt her cheeks flush. This person knew. She froze, unsure of how to answer. There were two possibilities here. He could be a friend, someone put in place by Gold to help usher her upstairs and safe. The other possibility made her stomach twist. She could never make it upstairs tonight if she answered the wrong way.

The man behind the counter did not share her fear. At the prolonged silence between them, he started to laugh and slapped his hand uncomfortably loud against the countertop. "Oh little Rabbit," he practically cooed, relighting the flame in her cheeks, "No need to look so scared. Reggie's an old friend."

Old friend could mean a lot of things.

Belle was not going to trust him so easily, and the wary look she gave him must have been exasperating enough. "Look," he leaned in again, his breath smelling vaguely of chamomile and peppermint, "I work with Reggie. Help him out on the side." He slipped the key on the counter with a small tag attached that indicated the room number. "Head upstairs on the lift and no one will bat an eye, Rabbit. Reg is waiting."

He made no move to follow her; he even withdrew his hand as she put hers forward to take the key. Belle nodded at him and closed her hand around the key. It was like a surge of electricity was reinvigorating her. No one with a gun jumped out from behind a pillar, there was no secret trap under the floor ready to swallow her whole, she didn't even feel a prick in her hand to deliver poison. It was just a key.

The ecstasy of knowing that this initial part of the ordeal was not a trick was over, but followed by the understanding that the room on the tag could very well be a trap. Gold could have been safely in another room, or perhaps dead, who knew at this point, and she was being directed to an assailant waiting with a pistol or a knife or anything to strike her down. "Thank you," she murmured quietly, and the grinning man stood up straight, much taller than her.

As he stood, and the light changed on him, she managed to catch sight of thin pink line on his neck: like a scar. She tried not to stare, but she couldn't help but see. The man did not seem too perturbed as he went back to writing in a ledger. Though, when Belle glanced over, she could see the book he was 'writing' in was blank.

Curiouser and curioser.

Belle scurried from the desk, not wanting to linger much longer and rolled the key over in her hand. She checked the tag. Tenth floor.

She didn't much like elevators, but she figured it would be much less taxing than using the stairs. She was already tired from practically jogging to the hotel. She pushed the button with her manicured finger and shifted uncomfortably in her shoes.

It felt very much like Belle imagined a march to execution might feel like. She dreaded the worst, imagining whatever it was at the end of this was going to hurt, or worse, not work. She'd read about that sort of thing – in the high days of the French Revolution. The guillotine would be so dull from all of the executions that the heavy blade would most assuredly fall… but it wouldn't penetrate the skin.

The poor soul's neck would be broken, sometimes half severed, and they'd breathe on and live while they raised the blade again. The agonizing pain in between moments of intense fear, most likely shock, all of it would descend upon that person in an execution gone wrong.

Fortunately, a guillotine was no longer necessary and the methods were much more succinct these days. She imagined if she were walking to the gallows, so to speak, she wouldn't be met by a man in a black mask with a rope. It'd be a plastic tarp, maybe a blade or a pistol, and a pinstriped suit. Each ding of a bell as she traveled upward felt like a funeral knell. Vibrating in the chamber of the elevator, they seemed to echo into one another, and Belle tried to swallow her anxiety, even if it did live a sour taste in her mouth and a rumbling in her stomach.

The ninth bell was loud.

It felt louder than any of the others, and she could feel herself shrinking. It was almost as though if she wanted to, right now, she could disappear into the background and never been seen again. Unfortunately, when she looked down at her hands, she was not fading at all. She supposed she could turn around, or she could leave. But, on the chance that the man at the desk was not lying, that Gold was here and safe and she hadn't been duped, she couldn't.

She decided it might be better if she confronted whatever this was, regardless of how it ended up. When the last bell rang, when the doors sprung open, Belle rolled her shoulders. The floor was even more richly decorated than the lobby. She was nervous, but she had to do this.

Belle looked at the key again, for the number, and came to a door. It didn't seem that different from what she anticipated. The molding was gorgeous, the walls were neatly painted and nothing was cracked. There was even a lush, maroon carpet under her feet that cushioned every heeled step she took. Maybe no one even heard her as she stood in front of the door.

If the person behind it was looking out of the peephole, they didn't let on. It was so quiet anyone could hear a pin drop. She wondered how loud a knock on the door would be. She had to be brave though.

Belle flipped the key in her hand before she connected it to the lock. It was a swift motion that set the wind rushing from her lungs and a pang straight to her heart. She just had to twist the key and it was over. The door creaked open slowly, and she peered in through the crack. The interior was dark. It didn't seem like there was anything in there at all.

She didn't know if that made her feel any better. But, she moved forward anyway. Time to take her fate into her own hands, she recognized. Belle moved into the dark foyer, seeing the sitting area and the tables, all dark and plush. There was a hall and several doorways. She could only assume this was some kind of suite – the kind of thing she'd only ever heard of before.

As quietly as she could, Belle shut the door behind her, pulling on the door shut. Even she could barely hear the click as it shut again. Even still, she stood perfectly in place, looking inward to see if shadows were moving. The room, like her, was still.

For a moment, she wanted to call out to see if someone was there, but she couldn't find her voice. It was stuck somewhere in her throat, and she slipped off her shoes, just in case her shoes alerted someone unpleasant of her presence.

Besides, there seemed to be a light coming from one of the rooms further in the suite. Perhaps like a mouth to the flame, Belle moved further into the dark rooms, closer to the light coming out from the bedroom, she assumed, since there was a tile floor near another doorway that poked open, signaling it was the bathroom.

Creeping along, Belle realized she wasn't nervous. She was already in. To leave now, it didn't seem possible. She'd screw up; she'd be dead either way. It seemed to help her find her voice, and Belle took a deep breath before she was standing right outside of the door. "Hello?" she called, even in her weak voice.

She closed her eyes, not having to wait long before she heard some rustling. Someone was in there, that was for certain, and Belle listened as hard as she could, screwing her eyes shut to concentrated all of her energy on her hearing. She was listening for the uneven gait of Gold's footsteps.

Even though she heard it, she almost refused to believe it until she heard the door creak open. "Belle?" his voice was soft, but gruff, and Belle felt tension leap from her muscles, "You came."

He sounded so full of awe, like he didn't believe she would, that Belle opened her eyes and smiled at him, "Of course I came," she soothed, moving toward him.

The relief of knowing that the man downstairs hadn't led her astray, that this wasn't' a death trap was enough to make her want to throw herself into his arms and just stay, for as long as possible. But, it wasn't why she was here. She was here to talk to him.

"I'm sorry it's so late," he murmured as he took her hand and led her into the large room. It was outfitted with not only the largest bed she had ever seen, but also a sitting section and a table. It was like an apartment inside of a bedroom. She imagined someone could comfortably live in this room alone if they added a kitchenette. It seemed so strange that people would pay to stay in a room like this for maybe even just one night. She very briefly wondered what it might cost.

She supposed that was what the wealthy did.

Gold, for instance, looked so much like he belonged in this place. Even without his jacket on, his dress shirt and tie, pristine and crisp, leather shoes sitting by the edge of the slightly rumpled bed, indentations and wrinkles where a person must have been sitting.

"If anyone should apologize for the hour, it's me…" she half smiled, "or Regina," and giggled just a little, hoping to lighten the mood just a little bit.

She saw his shoulders shake with silent chuckles and her half smile bloomed in full. "That's true," he grinned, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "But I wouldn't have you apologize for anything."

Belle blushed despite herself and gnawed on the inside of her cheek. "I should though," she finally admitted out loud. "For getting into this – for making all of this happen."

She didn't anticipate another bout of laughter from her companion. "Oh sweetheart," he breathed in between laughs.

"Don't laugh," she protested, though not sincerely. It must have sounded so silly, apologizing for things she practically stumbled upon. He did try, for her sake, even if it was a rather lame attempt, complete with the ineffective use of his hand to cover his mouth. "Are you finished?" she asked, only a little impatiently.

Though he still smiled, and appeared to be keeping a very large store of air in his lungs, like a sausage stuffed in a casing that threatened to bust. He leaned forward and placed a kiss on her forehead. It was so sweet that it was Belle's turn to laugh. "For now."

He dipped a kiss between her eyes, and then another on her nose, and then on one cheek, then the other… Belle leaned into him, taking a step closer, and tilted her head up to get a proper kiss. But, he avoided her lips and Belle whined in protest. "This is something I wish you could finish with," she pressed her lips together in a pout as she ran her hand down his shirtfront.

A hum rose in the back of his throat and it vibrated in his chest. "I thought we had to talk," he leaned his forehead against hers and Belle almost forgot what they had to talk about.

"We do," Belle sighed as she closed her eyes, feeling his warm breath on her face, and him being so close. She just couldn't let herself start yet. She wanted to stand, just like this, for a minute more, and soak in the feeling before it probably all went down hill again.


End file.
